It is Never Simple
by WishMaker7
Summary: Civil, simple and truth. Three words that Klavier lives by. In the aftermath of his brother's death, these three objectives, as well as the young blonde's sanity, will have been tested to limits far beyond anything he has ever experienced. In the center of it all? A certain feather-headed attorney. SPOILERS to the entire AJ series. Reviewers are saints. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter Zero: A New Life

**A/N:** It's kinda sad that there isn't very much Klavipollo, so I'mma here to change that! Honestly, though I do _really_ like the concept of this story, I think I'm gonna deliver it like poo. Since I'm so on-the-fence about this story, reviews would be GREATLY (ever so greatly!) appreciated.

**Full Summary: **Civil, simple and truth. Three words that Klavier lives by. In the aftermath of his brother's death, these three objectives, as well as the young blonde's sanity, will have been tested to limits far beyond anything he has ever experienced. In the center of it all? A certain feather-headed attorney. SPOILERS to the entire AJ series, especially the ending. Reviewers are saints. Rated M for yaoi, slash, possible gore, rape. Eventual KlaviPollo, other pairings that I won't reveal... ;P

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**Prologue: A New Life**

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_July 27, 2027—12:04AM_

Calling out in the distance was a young owl, distraught as the unforgiving rain began to pound harder upon the dark trees just beyond the cascade-kissed windows. This was the very first sound that the man was capable of hearing in a long time. His cerulean eyes danced from the confides of the dreaming darkness to the uncertainty of the subsistent light, a familiar ringing sound shrieking in his exhausted mind. How could he forget it? He caused that eerie sound only moments ago. He took the moment to look himself over; was his shirt fixed right? His jacket? Perhaps his hair or his shoes? He'd have to get used to them. Certainly he felt… different, but that was to be expected. Everything about him was relied solely on feeling alone, as the room fell into the abyss of the sleeping night; the room cried out to the lightning just outside, bleeding the contents within the velvety-violet walls briefly in a white light, revealing all that had happened only moments ago.

The young man groaned; his room was a disgusting mess, but he had only himself to blame, didn't he? The ivory moon just outside was condemned to the shadows of the blackened clouds as they furiously down-poured upon the innocence of the land. The young male tensed his right hand; it was odd, being ambidextrous, and it was an even stranger feeling having this newly-mastered hand streaming in blood. He groaned once more; such bloodstains would be a nuisance to remove from the hardwood floor if he so happened to let it set. He removed himself from the cryptically disastrous room to fetch a dampened paper towel. The stubborn disarray could be cleaned at a later time.

As he mopped up the drying blood and mended his room slightly, he attempted to readjust himself, examining further parts of his bodily functions—certain gaits, different facial gestures, and even the flexes on his hand. Once he began his flexes, he then realized, after having forgotten, that his hand was sobbing blood. His lip and eyebrow twitched distastefully, and he removed himself from the now-partially-clean room once more. Suffice it to say, he knew his way around the mischievous ebony pathway. Lord be damned if he had forgotten his way in his own house. After completing his task, he found himself short of breath. If it was _that_ again… The young man was given no other choice than to relax himself on his couch as _that_ settled itself back down, the crippling pain nearly felling the man as a ghastly chill crept along his spine. How annoying. He finally thought he had ridden himself of it, but alas, all good things must heave a hefty price tag. He could only wish that it would settle soon; the poor hardwood could only bear so much dried blood on itself, and it certainly isn't capable of cleaning itself. The young man felt he had to force it; he took control of his solicitous willpower and forced _that_ back within the deepest confides of his body, never to be seen again, if one was to hope for the best. As he returned to his destroyed room once more, the young man found himself with a partial of virtually everything: a partially-healed hand, a partially-cluttered mess of a room, a partially-spotless floor, a partially-lit house… and, to ice the partial cake, a partially-owned body.

As he replaced the clutter to its original neat state, it was as if a video recording was playing in reverse, the eerie shriek a constant reminder to the body-snatcher of what he had done. "I hope you don't mind," He found himself muttering, as if to _that_. "Well, I suppose it is I who must mind now," He chuckled darkly. "As the problems that were left are now on this body." The desperate cry… the spilling gash along his right hand… the horror plastered on those brilliant cerulean eyes… How could he forget?

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**A/N: **And there's your itty-bitty prologue. It was kinda forced, really, 'cause I didn't want to deliver my story just the way it was. Cripe, I have no idea what I'm gonna do with this story.

Alright, alright. **I KNOW THIS CHAPTER'S NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ANY SENSE.** Yes, I get it. Just… try to remember this chapter and the minimal contents that you were able to recieve (I'll even list what happened if I must) and the situation (the settings and stuff) and the date. It'll be important later on and no, it isn't supposed to make much more sense than that.


	2. Chapter One: The Gavins

**A/N:** I'm still really nervous about this story… :/ I know what I want to do… I have a lot of scenes that are burned into my mind, but I'm really scared this story's gonna turn out poo; so that's why reviews are _really_ helpful in this case, 'cause I'm really willing to scrap this if people don't think it's good. This chapter's probably gonna sit here a while, since I have school and another project (it's my proudest story; a KH story, 'Love' (link here for those who like PW and KH: s/8284127/1/Love)). Until I finish that KH story, this chapter's gonna just collect dust a while.

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**Chapter One: The Gavins**

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_Four Days Earlier…_

_Wright Anything Agency_

_July 23, 2027—2:14PM_

Despite the former attorney's renowned status, the Wright Anything Agency had yet to acquire a single case in a whole month. This led the not-so-rookie attorney to sigh, the room condemned to a bothersome heaviness that would not cease. Atop the fact that his home was being owned by him simply by thin threads of income, it seemed that everyone looking for a defense attorney turns to that who was disbarred, and rejects the pointy-haired attorney for his lack of experience. Wasn't the Vera Misham trial enough for _a little_ status?

The cyan-clad magician seemed to sense his upset. "Is something wrong, Polly?"

Apollo sighed. _No, I don't want a cracker._ He groaned inwardly. "Your dad is the legend here, Trucy. They don't want a 'newbie' like me. They want someone who has years of experience to back them up. …And I'll never get that experience if they never let me represent them…"

"Well, you're not the only one feeling the heat! I heard Mr. Gavin had been going through a lot since his brother got convicted." The magician's face couldn't help but waver into a pink color upon saying that name. It wasn't a mystery that she, along with hundreds of others, was smitten with the young prosecutor.

_Prosecutor Gavin…?_ " 'A lot?' What do you mean by that?" The crimson-clad attorney could only wonder how the prosecutor could factor into all of this. True, his brother was convicted of multiple murders, but why would _he_ of all people be subjected to this 'heat?'

"The public thinks that he was somehow involved in his brother's murders. That he was an accomplice and all that stuff. Some go so far as to say that it was him dressed up as his brother." Trucy's face was upset, an image that was mirrored on Apollo's face. _How could anyone think that way? Jeez, they'd do anything for the next juicy headline… 'Prosecutor Covering for Murderous Brother,' end quote._ "It's terrible! I can't believe anyone would be so cruel… We already proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mr. Kristoph was the only guilty party. It-It isn't possible for Mr. Gavin to have done any sort of crime! He isn't that cold sort of man his brother is…"

A certain statement latched onto the young attorney's mind. "An accomplice, huh? That got me thinking…" Apollo pressed his index to his forehead in thought.

"Oh no… not you too, Polly! You know he's innocent! You know it!" The magician's expression actually threatened to slap him. Although, the attorney knew too well Trucy's mild nature would prevent any sort of slapping, which was a relief on his part.

"No, I don't think he's an accomplice, but hey—I don't really know about the Gavin family's past. What was kept from the prosecutor in his life that made Kristoph so… so… cold? I mean, it must have been an exposure type of situation; I doubt that Kristoph was just born evil and Prosecutor Gavin just born good. The fact that he was so… so cruelly selfish about his motives… why? Why is he like this? And why is Prosecutor Gavin so different from him?"

Trucy was upset; her face expressed disdain. "What if… What if it's a bad past? What if it's a very bad past? If it would make Mr. Gavin so… so evil… then _what_ exactly happened?" Her eyes saddened in pity. "And if that same thing happened to Prosecutor Gavin… how…? How can he stay so carefree?"

" 'What's he hiding?' You think?" Apollo spoke her words, but with this came uncertainty. What if his Perceive could not do the job? If his past is so laced in tragedy, how will he prove it?

"Well, he went to go visit Mr. Kristoph the day he was arrested. That counts for something, doesn't it?" The cyan-clad magician was certainly on the vocalist's side, for she pitied his now-suspicious social status and had begun to make a decent friend in the man, if a little early to call him such a thing. "Care… pity… who knows?"

This new knowledge fascinated Apollo, even so only for the chance to further embarrass the girl. "So, Truce, how'd you end up finding out that little tidbit? Is that more on your, um, 'investigation' into the old Gavinners, hm? and their members?" Apollo rather enjoyed her supposed crush on the prosecutor… He is a brother now, after all. It was good to tease his sister a little.

"Who said anything about that? I was just worried for him." Her voice was giddy, as expected. She was most likely indulging herself in the single time that Mr. Hat was revealed to that man. To her surprise, he was impressed—dare say, _pleased_—by her performance. _As if Mr. Wright needed to worry about this girl and boys… here's one for him: she's into the pedophilic type. _"And plus, my research was over their last EP that was supposed to be released after they broke up! I just wanted to see if I could get it, jeez! A girl can dream, right?"

"Not if that in which your 'dreaming' about is nine years older than you…" Apollo snickered. "But anyway, I haven't gotten a case, and I'm sure Prosecutor Gavin hasn't either, so I'll try to find him and talk to him." That single nagging, hidden truth drove his own personal investigation. That, combined with his sheer lack of activities available to him, forced it; atop all of this, he, the glimmerous prosecutor, and his mentor, Mr. Wright, were all connected by one single man: Kristoph Gavin. Seeing as how the one that would know the most about him was the rival prosecutor, this was yet another reason to meet with him.

"How are you going to meet him? Do you have his number?" Trucy blushed slightly at this; perhaps she would like a share of those seven digits as well.

"Unfortunately, I don't. Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and find him somewhere…" It was here that a thought finally occurred to him, "Y'know, I've never actually been to Prosecutor Gavin's house. I've known where he's lived for a while—Kristoph being my former mentor—but I've never actually been to his house."

"Maybe it's high time you visit him! For all you know, he could be crying." For some reason, unbeknownst to him, the attorney could not shake the smile from the girl's face. Something about the prosecutor crying was amusing to her…? Or was it simply the fact that it seems impossible to upset the mighty Trucy Wright?

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The attorney finally made the lengthy thirty minute trip by foot to the Gavin household. Although Trucy complained that 'it would only take five minutes by car,' Apollo would not admit it to the girl that he failed to have a driver's license. He knocked upon the Gavin household door, a house familiar to him—as Kristoph mentioned it once or twice—and finally the door opened, revealing the violet-clad—now ebony-clad, as his jacket was shed— prosecutor at the door, his platinum blonde locks free from its twist and left to drape over his shoulders; this made him look quite feminine. "Herr… Herr Justice?" The man was puzzled by the attorney's sudden appearance, yet didn't seem to mind it, his expression light and cheerful—not at all like how the attorney expected. "Ah… and you brought the little Fräulein with you as well. You have been practicing the Herr Hat technique, ja?"

Trucy let slip a small giggle. "Of course, Mr. Gavin! You wanna see it?" Her voice was eager as she bounced.

"Ach, I suppose I should as why such an imposing forehead is by my doorway, first?" _…So it looks like his brother's death hasn't changed his mannerisms, God forbid. Still cheeky as always… great… _"Along with an ambitious cyan Fräulein?"

"Well, c'mon Polly! Tell him why you're here, quick! So I can show him how much I've improved!" At this point, the crimson-clad attorney wasn't sure whether her eagerness stemmed from her legitimate urge to practice her skills, or to impress a certain prosecutor. Or both. Apollo was one to let his mind wander into awkward tangents, so the possibility of Trucy being so smitten—including her blushing and eagerness—could all be an intricate illusion his mind set up to add some fascination into his life… or he was unintentionally Perceiving her gestures of attraction. Most likely, she simply wanted to perform for a man that actually appreciated her magical talent—panty snatching excluded.

"W-Well, Trucy and I've come to… check on you." He attempted to make his claim more personal, and yet he could do no such thing with this girl complaining down his neck. "Y'know, since your brother…" Apollo's voice trailed off, his Chords of Steel failing him. Such a personal subject; he'd hate to see the prosecutor… _For all you know, he could be crying!_ …_upset_, by the loss of his older brother.

The platinum blonde prosecutor heaved a sigh. "I suppose you won't leave without an explanation, ja? Well, you can come inside I suppose. Just be sure to leave your shoes on the porch." His voice was suddenly distanced as he spoke; its cheeriness was now dulled and he seemed troubled. The attorney sighed. _I really, _really_ hope I don't have to Perceive him in his own house… but I will if I must. _The attorney held his hopes high that the day at the prosecutor's would not turn sour so quickly; after all, Prosecutor Gavin seemed simply irritated, not grief-stricken.

Apollo decided to start with some trivial questions to attempt loosen the thick air about them. "So, you and your brother shared this house?"

The prosecutor's face gave a twist of confusion, but Apollo, more or less, ignored this. "That's correct. Since I came to America here, we have shared this house." His fingers brushed along a lamp nearest him. "…I suppose it's my house now."

The younger attorney waited for the heavy veil to lift somewhat before continuing. Apparently, it wasn't irritation. "Erm… I was wondering… where your bathroom was…" He brushed his spikes back in a feeling of embarrassment.

"It's down over by the end and take a left." The prosecutor instructed, turning his attention now towards the less killjoy figure of Trucy Wright. "So, you'll show me your improved Herr Hat trick, ja?"

It might have been the attorney's feverish mind at work, but he could swear he saw the teenage magician swoon a bit. "Of course! Oh, of course! Hehe…" The attorney really had no need to use the restroom. It seemed that his line of questioning, whenever it involved the once-attorney's execution, seemed to put the prosecutor in bad spirits; just as he thought, Prosecutor Gavin was _not_ okay with his brother's death. He flushed the toilet intentionally, although without using it, and washed his hands before returning to the prosecutor's living room.

Here, he found the good prosecutor and the young magician eating from a bowl of some very familiar snack. However the attorney tried to wrap around it, without the direct label, he could not determine where he'd seen it before. …Until the prosecutor threw one at his forehead. "Snackoo for your impressive forehead?" He snickered, throwing another one. "And that one was from the Fräulein Detective, I'm sure. You should paint a target on it, Herr Forehead; it would be an interesting game, ja?" It was here that Trucy chuckled along. Two thoughts rang through the attorney's head: _This is all a game yourself, Gavin! You're hiding the fact that you're upset by throwing Snackoos at me? _and _Oh dear Trucy… please don't be influenced to throw things at me, too._

The prosecutor bent towards the magician, whispering something in her ear whilst eying the attorney. She chuckled, and fulfilled Apollo's second fear. She Snackoo'd him while taunting, "Polly wanna Snackoo? Hehe…"

The irritation shown on the attorney's face was realized by Trucy; she knew to throw no more at the attorney. This certain Snackoo landed in the defense attorney's hand, and he decided to take a bite of it, forgetting just how addicting the chocolate snack was. "Hey, lemme get some!" And he temporarily distracted himself and the prosecutor by throwing himself on the couch along with them—as if the older, ebony-clad man had been his best friend his entire life—and began to snack with them, disallowing any more snack-throwing. "So… it's because of Detective Skye that you eat these now?" Between intervals of speaking was the familiar munch of the snack.

"But of course. The Fräulein Detective's hatred towards me made my less-than-shiny forehead a target for those snacks. I tried one of them, of course. You did the same thing in court, ja? There is no problem with that." He smiled. "It was understandable, at that point, why she would eat them on the job. I even keep a small bag in my pocket now, for when I have to wait when I am investigating."

_Disclosing information that a prosecutor usually shouldn't?_ _Admitting your snacking on the job? What kind of agenda do you play off of, Gavin?_ "…That's nice. So, um… you like Trucy's magic…?" His mind was distant. He was trying to find the right question to ask the prosecutor before he himself would grow distant as well.

"But of course! How could I hate such entertainment like the Fräulein's? Better, how could _you _hate her talent, Herr Forehead?" His eyebrows rose in its playfully condescending manner, visible in most visits. "She is the only heir now to the Gramarye magic style, ja? Then why do you openly disregard her talents? Why do you show such apathy? She is talented, and also your assistant. You should pay her some heed, Herr Forehead; it's otherwise rude."

Apollo's face was littered in irritation. _Just because he likes your tricks does _not_ mean that you can go ahead and tell him everything, Trucy._ The girl seemed to pick up on his irritability. "Hey, don't look at me! He came to my first Gramarye show, where I had Mr. Hat Gramarye, and he just pieced two and two together! It's not my fault, Polly!" It was here that a formidable-looking, golden dog padded its feet towards the prosecutor. Trucy squeaked, "Aw! It's a doggy! Polly, look!" She smiled, moving a cautious hand towards the dog.

"Ah, this is Vongole. She… was Kristoph's. Now she's mine; I've known her for as long as I can remember." He smiled as the dog jumped up onto the leather seat with him, dribbling a lick onto his face. He chuckled. "She doesn't bite, I promise. Kristoph trained her to be a guard dog, but she's too mild. Way too mild for her own good; she just lazes around here… all day. Not much work." The prosecutor took the jowls of the dog and kissed her nose. "No, you're not bad, are you girl? You wouldn't hurt a soul, no you wouldn't." He cooed.

"I'm more of a small rodent, out-of-the-way-type person myself. Y'know? Bunnies… hamsters…" Apollo muttered, but was not heard.

"So… she's nice?" Trucy rubbed a wavering hand through the retriever's fur, relaxing the more she stroked. "Doesn't… bite, right?"

"Of course not, Fräulein. Achtung," He rose with a snap of his fingers, Vongole perking her head up curiously. It was the first time the prosecutor said that signature word so mildly. "I'll take you to her playroom, Fräulein."

"Her… playroom?" Trucy bounced, instantly attached to the lazy dog. "Can we play?"

"But of course." He smiled, leaning in. "I'm sure some of her activities even _you_ can fit through in your small size." He moved towards a doorway. "Come now, she gets excited when we go towards this room. She'll be… energetic, but don't worry, she won't bite. This, I promise you." He watched as the two ladies made their way into Vongole's playroom.

"Mr. Gavin…? You're not gonna watch?" Trucy's eyes mirrored a tad bit of heartbreak as the eldest male turned to leave.

"I'm afraid not, Fräulein. I have to speak with Herr Justice, if you don't mind. Oh, and a word of advice: don't try to use your Herr Hat trick on her. She startles easily, and, although she won't bite, it'd be a sad thing to watch." He turned to make his leave. "I'll return once our discussion is done. Over past that hallway is the kitchen; if you're hungry, don't be afraid to take what you want." The prosecutor returned to his seat, eying the rival attorney. "So, Herr Forehead… you want to know of my brother?" He smiled his warm, cheerful smile—nothing at all like his just previous experience.

"If it doesn't bother you, Prosecutor Gavin." Apollo was uneasy. If, in fact, the prosecutor would fall to tears, what would he do then?

He loosed a light sigh. "Whenever anyone mentions my brother, I always get a feeling—pity, disappointment, sorrow… a mix of bad things—none of which is regret." He bore into the attorney's chocolate eyes with his cerulean. "So nein, I don't miss him. He… He deserved to be punished for his selfishness. But I just… remember him… for who he once was, not who he has become, and for this, I sometimes weep." A pained smirk twitched his lip. The ghastly similarity to his brother's frightened the attorney for a moment. "He… wasn't always evil. I remember him when he was good. When he… cared about me as a brother, and not merely as a tool for revenge…" His voice wavered onto pain. He had moved on… or so he thought. _Poor Prosecutor Gavin… I can't imagine being used… by my own loving brother…_

"But there was one thing nagging me even after all was said and done." Apollo pressed his index to his forehead. "His motives were… too easy." The platinum blonde turned a curious eye to his rival. "I mean… he was denied the opportunity to defend a client. _That_ was enough reason to attempt to destroy the lives of the defendant _and_ the stand-in attorney? It seemed so… so selfish. Almost spoiled; he seemed very… childish." _Childish_. That was the perfect word to describe Kristoph's actions. At least… it was the best that the attorney could surmise.

"Childish and deadly." The prosecutor added. "As for _why_ he did such actions… I do not know. …But I have an idea." The last statement barely left the prosecutor's lips… as if… he didn't want it heard.

The defense attorney could not help but note this. "An idea? Do tell,"

Prosecutor Gavin had hardly noticed; he was too deep in thought. But after a moment, "Hm? You said something…?"

"Y-Yeah… you said you had an idea. An idea of why Kristoph would act so childishly selfish?" He could see confusion just beyond the prosecutor's cerulean eyes. Confusion… and… curiosity?

The prosecutor threw his head down in a low chuckle. "Herr Forehead… it's simply an idea, but I have no qualms of telling you."

"R-Really…?" _That was too easy._

"But I'll tell you… you'll have as much questions as answers once I speak." As his head turned up, a warm, cheerfully playful smile stretched across his face. "So no worries, ja?" He brushed through his freed locks as he spoke, "It has to do… with our past. But I suppose you knew that, ja? There is but one problem, though,"

_Actually, I didn't know it had to do with your _entire_ past, but okay, I'll shoot. _"A problem, Prosecutor Gavin?" The attorney readied himself for what he might hear—_Kristoph's a psychopath, but that's already known, so no problem there. Prosecutor Gavin's an accomplice to all of this? That would certainly be a problem. Who knows?_

And yet the prosecutor's lips drew nothing of that sort. "Herr Justice, I remember nearly nothing of my past."

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**A/N: **LOOK, IT'S VONGOLE! :DDD Since Kristoph revealed in the games that he has a dog, I was like (:33333) inside. To get the dialogue bit (and if you haven't beaten the game, skip over this), when you're in Gavin's cell, when he's there, examine the flowers. Since then, I NEEDED Vongole in the story (and NO I'm not making her up!).

Whenever is happens to be that a character doesn't mention a lick of their past, things like this usually reach my mind. Combine that with the fact that Klavier is so pure and Kristoph ended up corrupt as hell, I could only imagine that Kristoph remembers something that Klavier doesn't… so…

Until I finish up Chapter Two, this is just gonna sit here, I keep having to say, and I'm sorry… :/ Gah, I love writing Klavier's parts! He's so cute! :3


	3. Chapter Two: The True Klavier

**A/N:** Gah, the minute I saw Klavier suffering the way he did from Kristoph's criminal intents, I died a little and went to heaven. I KNEW I HAD TO PLAY OFF OF THIS. So… um… I kinda a reveal, a little, for what this chapter's about. *Looks at how much she has written* GASP! D: *STARTS TYPING FRANTICALLY*

At least this chapter shows one of the themes of this story.

This story's going chapter by chapter… I'm so not used to this… despite the (one!) reviews I've gotten, I'm still kinda on the fence about this story, and especially since this chapter is so focal, reviews are almost necessary. I have to say, if you've read my other stories (all of you Phoenix Wright and KH people!), this story is going to have a LOT longer chapters, generally 3000 to upwards of 6000 words. Just letting you know.

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**Chapter Two: The True Klavier**

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_Gavin Household_

_July 23, 2027—4:19PM_

The attorney fell silent for a long while as the prosecutor's playful smile never faded. _He's pulling my leg. Right…?_ "Come again…?"

"I only remember things from the time I came to America onwards. I remember nothing of my life in Germany." His face was so sweet. His nature, so mild. He could not be lying.

"H-How…? When? Why?!" The attorney was shocked; the prosecutor before him spoke surprisingly little of his personal life. What else had he to hold…?

The ebony-clad once-rocker chuckled once more. "Ah, Herr Forehead, I only have the memory to recall one of those vociferations. That would be 'when.' If I were to know of the 'hows' and the 'whys,' why, I would have the whole truth, and I could answer your question completely. I would not have a baseless idea. So alas, I do not know how I lost my memory or why. I only know I had just turned sixteen when it happened. I lost it in Germany, and I knew no English at the time."

The last statements seemed out of place. The attorney felt he had to press him on the matter. "Why the wheres? I could've figured out where you were at the time."

"Ah… of course. I remember nothing of my life in Germany, as I have said. That could only mean that when I awoke, I was no longer in Germany, but rather—"

"America," Apollo finished. "Where you spoke no English." The prosecutor before him nodded. "But… how? How did you end up in America if you lost your memory—which I can only assume was from a subsequent accident—in Germany?"

"Ah, yes," Prosecutor Gavin put a hand to his forehead. "There was… but a moment I clearly remember in Germany, and I don't even know if I _was_ in Germany. I… was in a dark room. There were men there, around me, watching me with great concern. My head throbbed, and my side and back ached ever so badly. I was barely grasping onto consciousness. They were all speaking in a language I did not understand at the time; they were speaking English amongst themselves. When they realized I had awoken, one spoke to me. He interpreted my speaking to the others, the doctors… surgeons… He asked me for my name, and age. He was so kind to me—that man—my caretaker. I gave him the information, that I was Klavier Gavin, and sixteen years of age. He asked if I could recall any family. I… I couldn't. Not at the time. Except for… my brother, Kristoph. I remembered him better than most. He faltered the least in my memory, but that's not to say much. I had lost almost all of my memory, yes, and that's to say that the only things I can recall about Kristoph was that he was my older brother of eight years and that he loved me. …And I remembered him the _most_." The prosecutor chuckled at this in a bittersweet reminiscence. "I remembered much too late that I had a father… but I never could recall anything of my mother, or any other siblings or such. I could simply recall that I had a father—I couldn't even pinpoint his appearance—and that he was a supposed 'good man.' To this day I only know that I had a father, and that's all. With this information, they sent me to America to live with my brother. My house… it was destroyed; Kristoph was the only family I had, in America. I was sent there, taken to his house by my caretaker. By the time I found out I had a father… I was in my caretaker's, well, care."

"Your… interpreter."

"Hm?" The prosecutor turned his head to the attorney.

This fact, though seemingly unimportant, bothered the feather-headed attorney. "This 'caretaker…' he was your interpreter, yes? He was the one who asked your name and age?"

"Why, yes… but I call him a caretaker, because he did just so." He smiled warmly at the fond memories shared between the two. "I… had a hard time finding my brother. It took my caretaker at least five or so months to locate him. Until then, I stayed with him. Apparently, he had been studying abroad to find what it means to be a prosecutor. …To find the truth. He happened to choose Germany first, and happened to find me, in whatever state I happened to be in—probably bad if I had needed surgery—and happened to return to America simply to care for me. You see, apparently, he and I had similar stories. Apparently, he knew nothing of his mother as well, and he had fond memories of his father before his father's passing. He told me, that although my father was not dead, that going back with my father rather than Kristoph was… impossible. Already I was making my way to America when we discussed this, and, to top it all off, Germany was no longer a safe place. Although I was much older than he was on his father's passing, he said that the innocence of a blank slate of memory is what drew him to me. He… wanted to protect me, until I could find my brother. B-But I'm getting off track, ja?"

"W-W-Wait, Prosecutor Gavin! Can you at least… show me a picture of him?" This small bother had become quite the bother for the attorney. A name would be nice, a face, nicer.

The older male bit his lower lip. "Oh… I'm sorry… I don't have his picture, but I can tell you that he's a renowned prosecutor here in America, but he is currently prosecuting abroad, in courtrooms all over the world. At the time, he had lost all meaning to what it means to be a prosecutor, and had disappeared, learning abroad to find the truth, and himself. He is who truly taught me what it means to prosecute. He is who taught me myself this same meaning, and I stand by that to this day."

"Wow," Apollo breathed. On a flip-side, this is exactly the renowned status that the attorney hoped to achieve someday: defending clients in courtrooms all over the world, just as Klavier's caretaker has, on the flip-side of prosecuting. "Is that, like, upon request?"

The prosecutor chuckled once more. "But of course. He has… a family to tend to, or so I've heard. Why would he settle for anything of less demand?"

"And… he told you what it meant to be a prosecutor?"

"Ja, baby. He showed me that the truth is everything. And there I was and still am now, confused on anything and everything, searching for the truth behind every story. That is why I have no qualms about losing in the courtroom. If the defendant is truly not guilty, so says the truth. If the defendant is truly guilty, so says the truth. You understand?" A hint of pain lingered in his voice as it quieted when it spoke, "If my brother chooses to use me to harm others coldly… if he chooses to become a murderer… so says the truth, no matter how hard he tries to hide it."

"Prosecutor Gavin…" Apollo muttered, utterly lost for words. He was truly pure, wasn't he? A one-of-a-kind prosecutor, persistent in his search for the truth, to overturn the stones of his past.

"Apollo," A small smirk left his lips once he said the attorney's name with respect. This drew the attorney's attention in wonder, and he awaited the prosecutor to continue. "I… joke a lot. I am… goofy and sarcastic, ja? It's all good fun with me. This is why I call you 'Herr Forehead' and such. I will be willing to call you 'Apollo;' but why… do you insist on calling me 'Prosecutor Gavin…?' This I've always wondered."

The crimson-clad attorney was, again, lost for words. Indeed… why? He was even content with calling his murderer of a brother by his first name, 'Kristoph.' Why, then, is it so difficult for him to utter his name? _It's not so bad… it's just Klavi—_ …A flutter filled his stomach. Inexplicable, yet absolute. This fluttering… he had felt it once before… when Kristoph Gavin took the stand for the final time. _Prosecutor Gavin looks like he's in physical pain! That darkness… I need to pull that darkness out of him!_ The look upon the platinum blonde's face when the bitter truth was finally rearing its head… that flutter in the attorney's stomach was it not pity… but something more…? _No, no… that's ridiculous! It's nothing more than a simple feeling. I feel bad saying his name because the only person that called him his real name was his brother, right? And that's… bad memories…_ His mind convinced him, although the young attorney already knew that the prosecutor had come to grips with the truth. "I… don't wanna hurt you."

This brought a spark of interest on the older male's face after a long look of acute worry. He laughed, and then strummed the sweet, imaginary notes of his nonexistent guitar. "Why…?" He chuckled, a bit louder than before. "Why would saying my name hurt me…? It hurts me that you don't try to be so… so friendly towards me. 'Prosecutor Gavin,' that's like throwing our difference in badges every time you address me! I call you Herr Justice or Herr Forehead, but never anything like Defense Attorney Justice or, Lord forbid, Defense Attorney Forehead. It seems so… impersonal…" There was that flash of subtle pain in his cerulean eyes once more.

"Is there… something wrong?" The younger male despised seeing so much pain on the older; he had been through the hell of uncovering the truth of his brother's murderous tendencies, and watched the news broadcasts on every channel reporting his execution. This pain… it was from more than just Kristoph.

"N-No, it's nothing. I'm asking too much, ja?" His cheerful, playful smile returned as he leaned in, and yet there was something… wrong about it. _He's… hiding something…? But what? And why? If he's comfortable with talking about his brother's death—hell!—even his loss of memory… what's so difficult for him to speak of?_ Apollo gasped softly. His bracelet… it tightened. He took a deep breath; he would have to focus on the next few words spoken, wouldn't he? He would have to Perceive Prosecutor Gavin, the single prosecutor who would freely spill the information of a case for the sake of the truth… the single _nice_ prosecutor… "We are nothing more… than rivals."

Silence filled the room after the statement was made. In confusion, the prosecutor turned a cerulean eye to his rival. There, he found a very smug attorney, his arms folded. "Gotcha, Prosecutor Gavin," Apollo smirked; a smirk that was wiped away as the ebony-clad prosecutor winced slightly, his eyes filled in sadness. " 'Than rivals.' That's what got you, wasn't it?"

The older male spoke nothing, a bittersweet smirk twitched across his lips. This time, it didn't frighten the attorney; Prosecutor Gavin's eyes… were brimming in sorrow. Sorrow that could not possibly be similar to his brother. Kristoph felt no sadness, no regret. This… was some sort of pain. A deep-rooted pain. "Y-Yes… I suppose it is… This… This isn't even a case. Why must you do this, Apollo Jus…tice?" It shocked the attorney; his voice was dead.

"Your hands tightened when you said those two words. It was as if… you were hugging yourself. Why? Most do that when they feel exposed… when they feel… naked, in a sense. You did it… why? Do you feel exposed?"

The platinum blonde's locks draped over his face as it lowered, obscuring his expressions. "No… I don't… not exposed…"

Apollo sighed. "You were hugging yourself because…" _Evidence time. I suppose either of the two would work, but since we've run one dry, might as well do the other._ "You feel unloved." He could see the prosecutor's weak smirk, a tear rolling from his obscured eyes down his cheek. "It seems, though you're adored by thousands—dare say, millions—of fans, you have no one, don't you?" He tried not to wait for the prosecutor's response. "It started with Daryan Crescend. He was a friend of yours from the Gavinners, yes? And yet, it seems, he was the guilty party in the murder of Romein LeTouse. You were betrayed by a close friend." He could hear the prosecutor mutter something, but it was incoherent. He registered a note in his mind to be sure to ask later. "And as for the other band members? How was your relationship with them?"

"There… wasn't…" He muttered. "They were happy… happy to leave me… and the Gavinners. They were… Daryan's friends… not mine."

"And then there was Kristoph. Your own brother betrayed you, not even loving you; in the paranoid mess that he had become, he no longer cared for you, and instead used you as a tool for revenge. In truth, you were very famous, but you weren't loved. People were jealous of your fame, and yet… not a soul in the world loved you for who you were. They claimed to 'love' you for your fame, or your music, or hell! even your prosecuting career… but they never loved _you_, except maybe your caretaker, but I'm sure he's a busy man; a world-renowned prosecutor with a family to feed. By this time, I'd think he doesn't even know what kind of condition you're in." Perceiving is supposed to bring one closer to the truth. That is does. And yet, what was to be made of what the very prosecutor said just after his brother's condemning? _"Some truths… are best left a mystery. If they mean nothing later on, then they're not worth saying, ja? Some… but those like my brother's have to come out sooner or later."_

"Funny…" Prosecutor Gavin muttered, utter defeat resonating in his broken voice. "You gain everything… a sister in that little Fräulein, a mother in the wondrous diva that is Lamiroir, and a father figure in Phoenix Wright… all because of that case. Funny that that is also the case where I truly lost… everything…" Another tear fell from the ebony-clad prosecutor's hidden eyes. "I lost my older brother that day… and before that… _him._" _'Him?' Does he mean Daryan? If he's okay with talking about his brother… why is Daryan such a touchy subject? All he was to Prosecutor Gavin was a band-mate, right?_

Apollo did not feel that it was the appropriate time to ask of this oddity. He, instead, focused on the eerie matter at hand. "This is why you asked, isn't it?"

"Asked what, Herr Justice?"

"Why I call you only 'Prosecutor Gavin.' You wanted me to call you by your first name, right? You wanted that… so that you would have a friend." Apollo's throat formed a lump once those words were said; the absolution of Prosecutor Gavin's hidden inner feelings; his demons… his darkness… his true torments and sadness… _"Some truths… are best left a mystery." What if this was all true? What if Prosecutor Gavin was all alone? What if he… he… _Apollo did not want to cut into the realm of darkness. He didn't want to speculate any sort of… painful things a being can do in depression. Prosecutor Gavin is not like that. He is strong; he won't end his life so easily.

The older male sighed. "I'm _really_ jealous of you." The lump eased a bit; the way he said it… it wasn't in pain. His voice had depth… it had feeling…! "You're bracelet… your 'Perceiving,' as the Fräulein call it…" His fingers traced along his air guitar as the notes rang in his head. "…It's cool. Achtung, baby! You're right," A broad smirk crept onto his lips. "I… am alone. I have no one but Vongole."

"…And you're okay with this…?" Apollo was utterly confused. If he was drawing tears from being so alone… why was he suddenly happy—for the exact same reason—now…?

"Well… no," His smile wavered, then perked back up quickly. "Someone once told me, 'a lawyer is someone who smiles no matter how bad it gets.' It may have gotten pretty damned bad for this prosecution's attorney, but smile I will. Somewhere out there… is the people who will truly love me."

"Well," The attorney stood on that word for a bit. Should he really…? "…It's not as far away as you may think… Klavier." He rose over the butterflies in his stomach, but they still caught in his throat. _What about his name was so unnerving? It didn't matter. Prose—_Klavier_ needed as much love as he can handle. And… I might know just how to do that. _"How would you like to spend the rest of the day with us two? As… friends?" _Klavier. Now that I think about it, his name really does have a ring to it. It's… a beautiful name. Kinda like mine. It has the right ring to it. 'Klavier Gavin.' That just screams 'German.' Just like how 'Apollo Justice' just screams 'Justice!' Apollo Gramarye is just so… blah (and that's not even my real last name, so why am I bothering with this?)._

Klavier chuckled. "You… You flatter, Herr Forehead, I'll give you that. Fine, I acquiesce your offer. Perhaps… we can explore the rest of my house… and yours?"

"Mine…?" The attorney gulped; his house was a rat-holed shack-of-an-apartment that was nothing to be proud of. "Maybe just the Agency, y'know? End the day off with a magic show?" He offered much too quickly to be freed of suspicions.

Despite this, the ending offer made the older attorney grin. "Achtung, baby! I like your style. Alright… Fräulein Trucy—"

"Wait—! Wait…" Apollo quieted the man before him. "Before we get all happy-happy, can I ask one more sticky question…?"

"If it is about my past, I'm afraid I won't have answers, Herr Forehead." His eyes held that warmth again.

"No, no… you couldn't bring yourself to mention Daryan's name when you mentioned him, and yet you had no qualms of speaking of your brother; you said 'him,' who I could only assume was Daryan Crescend, with a sort of contempt… and a sort of pain, but it was in a different sort of league than the pain the memories of your brother surfaced. Atop that, you muttered something when I said, 'You were betrayed by your closest friend,' meaning Daryan Crescend. What I want to know is… what did you say?"

"No stone left unturned, hmm, Herr Forehead?" Thank goodness he was in good spirits—perhaps he would have never answered the question otherwise; the crimson-clad attorney knew far too well by the certain aspects that Klavier was showing that Daryan Crescend was a touchy subject. Perhaps his less melancholy mood would educe an answer…? "Well, let's suppose you want to overturn a boulder—boulders being much, much larger than your average stone, ja? So let's suppose you _want_ to turn it over, but don't have the means."

This was… a less-than-stellar answer, for the now-disheartened attorney. _Perhaps an answer won't be as easy as I hoped._ He sighed at the finality of his thoughts. "You… lost me."

"You have to go back to your tool-shed and get the necessary tools for the job, ja? Well, Apollo, let's just say that the answer to that question will take time. You haven't the means."

"…The necessary tools for the job." The attorney finally understood the seemingly out-of-the-blue metaphorical scenario. It was wonderful that the prosecutor hadn't completely fallen off the wagon, as the attorney had feared with this scenario (and too many run-ins with the Judge made such a scenario seem as though a real situation), but alas, he could not produce his precious answer from the eluding prosecutor's lips.

"Perhaps you'll find those necessary tools when you get to know me… a tad better." Apollo choked on those last words, and it was not at all by the words themselves. _Did Klavier… blush?_ "So, Herr Forehead, may I call the Fräulein magician, or shall you postpone it further?"

The younger male found himself a bit dazed. _Did Klavier… really just blush…?_ "N-No… bring her in, if you'd like." He spoke these words with the obvious distance in his eyes.

"If you insist, A…pollo? Are you alright?" He called out the 'little cyan Fräulein magician,' then tended to his now-friend, his concern for the attorney stemming solely from the man's obvious distance. "What's wrong?"

The crimson-clad attorney shook his head vigorously. He couldn't let Klavier know that he saw his possible blush. "Nothing, really. I'm just trying to wrack my brain around what 'close friend Daryan' meant to you."

The platinum blonde rested a hand gently on Apollo's apparently tensed fist. "Relax, Apollo. It takes time. If I told you now… things… wouldn't be right. You have to wait for opportune moment." He patted a hand on Apollo's back, retracting it almost immediately. "Ach! You… You don't relax often, do you?"

"Huh…? What…?" It was here that the crimson-clad attorney realized just _how_ stiff he really was. "Ooh… I guess so. Ow…" He rubbed his now-aching neck. _Thanks, Klavier. Wanna point out that my eyes bug out when I Perceive too?_ "I… never realized that…"

"Here, relax." Klavier then sat himself behind the attorney (forcing his nerves and readying his Chords of Steel for the worse), placing his hands at the junctions between neck and shoulder, massaging out the stiff, sore muscles. Trucy entered upon this scene, thinking nothing of it besides her jealousy towards her brother and her wonder at just what _else_ the prosecutor can really do, if he can sing, play guitar, prosecute _and_ give wonderful massages. She saw as Apollo forcibly stiffened himself at the prosecutor's touch. What if he melted? What if he was to succumb to the massage? What would that say about him? "Guten tag, Fräulein Trucy." The platinum blonde smiled. "Would you care for one afterwards? All of that magician's work must be very difficult for you." _This… is probably another way to seduce the ladies… and men. _No! _No, no… Apollo, don't get to hasty. You know nothing about this man that could bring his sexual orientation into scrutiny. After all, the only reason that he was in a band was to turn the ladies' eyes. _Klavier finally noticed, "Um… Apollo? Are you, by chance, uncomfortable? Because if you are, then I will stop."

Apollo had to pause. It _did_ feel very good, but it also felt wrong somehow. Knowing the prosecutor, it was probably done in all innocence to alleviate his tense muscles, but, as said, Apollo has an active imagination. "I guess. After all, Trucy would love to get a massage. She's never had one."

"Well, I'm nothing salon-style, but I do try. Alright then, Trucy,"

Trucy squeaked. "This is so cool! My very first massage!" She instantly melted from the moment his masterful hands rubbed down her troubles.

"So, after this, you will see the rest of my house, ja? …It's cool."

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**A/N:** At first, I wanted to leave Klavier depressed, but a friend reminded me constantly that he is a strong man, and that he wouldn't be upset for too long, so yeah… ah, Klavi… :)

The second theme won't show for a little while later… maybe chapter five… *STARTS TO FRANTICALLY FINISH CHAPTER THREE* Like I said, these chapters are long *Looks back at Chapter Three. Realizes it's already 5500 words. O.O*

Reviews are GREATLY appreciated.


	4. Chapter Three: What Was Left Behind

**A/N: DANKE** (See what I did there? ^^)** to all** [three]** of you who reviewed!** I am a confident girl once more! :D So hopefully, my reviews will multiply like bunnies so I can see you seething with anticipation! }:D

My God… THIS CHAPTER. IS TOO. FRIKKEN. LONG. I really wanted to make a break-off point, but I realized I couldn't. ^^' So if this chapter drags on, I apologize.

One thing that I probably should have pointed out from chapter Zero is that this story is kinda a romance/mystery/suspense hybrid. I'm generally good at suspense (which is not horror, so I didn't categorize it as such), but… IT WASN'T A GENRE! D: And I feel that it is more mystery than suspense, so there you go. So… yeah… there's GOING to be a minimum of one gory scene in this story, but it's not, like, shit-your-pants-scary, but it's suspenseful… y'know? That being said, if you're not up for that, I'm going to say that there's going to be a cut-off point, so don't keep reading unless you're willing to stomach that (…or the atrocious way I'm probably gonna write it -.-'). Since I'm disclaiming already, I'm going to say that the reason I think this story is poo is because I'm adding new elements in this story that I've never tried, like a gore scene and (possible!) sex-ish stuff... I _know_ that there is going to be allusions to sex-ish stuff, but I won't actually write about it… not unless people want to, y'know? And another reason's cuz I think I'm introducing things too damned fast…

That in itself is kinda a disclaimer to how creepy-slash-sadistic I can do… as this chapter will attest to, 'cause this stuff's been pretty cute so far; pretty Fluffy, y'know? but it's not anymore. After chapter, what? five? it won't be anymore. Jus' sayin'. Enjoy the Fluff until it floats away.

But, by all means, keep reviewing (especially your opinions on the likely gore and possible sensual stuff)!

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**Chapter Three: What Was Left Behind**

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_July 23, 2027—4:42PM_

"So, Apollo, now I must ask: what was _your_ life like?" Klavier asked in front of the crimson clad attorney as he led the way. "You speak fairly little about yourself."

_I could say the same thing…_ Apollo groaned inwardly. "I don't like to talk about myself too much." He muttered finally.

"Aw… but c'mon Polly! _I_ don't even know too much about you!" Trucy smiled, bouncing lightly. "And we're brother and sister now! I have a right to know!"

The older platinum blonde snapped his fingers, probably to the sound of whatever song was in his head. "As do I. Come now, Herr Forehead, sing the song of your past, as you had made me." He stopped before one of the doors, allowing time for the attorney to 'sing his song.'

Apollo sighed; there was no escape. He attempted to make it as simple as possible, and yet, knowing the two before him, the whole truth would never slip by. Especially not to the prosecutor. "I… I don't remember anything of my life before I was orphaned. I was too young; apparently, I was only five. After that, I was raised in an orphanage until they let me go when I was thirteen. They said once I became a teenager, I 'wasn't adoptable,' because no one tries to adopt a teenager. I got a workable job at sixteen and… had to get myself a house. It's still a load of crap to this day, and that's why I don't want you two to see it."

"No one took you in?" Klavier's face laced in a sort of pity.

"Not really. When they did, they'd send me back because I was so difficult and I already knew what I wanted to do with my life. Jeez, can't a kid _want_ to be a defense attorney when they're eight?" He sighed. "Nothing was wrong with each family except for one sole thing they each had in common: they wanted me to be something other than what I wanted. So I'd bitch and whine until they sent me back. Then… I got older and had to leave."

Klavier's eyes were bright and warm again. "Wow… so Phoenix Wright was your inspiration?"

"Yeah… well, first it was people like Mia Fey and this cool-cat attorney that was… Diego-something… but ever since Phoenix started his career, I've managed to follow him in his courtroom journeys via the media. …My life isn't all too interesting, okay?" He then noticed the platinum blonde's hand resting on the closed door before him. Unlike all of the other richly wooden doors, this particular door was black, with a 'KEEP OUT' sign, as well as 'DO NOT CROSS' tape wrapped around it, and… drawings? There was one of a band rocking the stage, another of the Grim Reaper, and the last was an intimidating-looking picture of Klavier and Kristoph with 'You have not a warrant to enter here' written on it. Kristoph had his hand pushing up his glasses, and as such the glare obscured his icy eyes. Klavier looked like the average mischievous rocker: his head was cocked up, a maniacally mischievous look on his face, his tongue twisted out. The coloring made it appear dark; Kristoph looked normal but Klavier—knowing his sweet nature—looked strange. "So, um… this is your room, Klavier?"

"What gave it away?" He chuckled as he asked sarcastically. "The 'DO NOT CROSS' tape or the fact that it's the only screaming-black door in this entire house?"

"Oh, I don't know," Apollo decided to play along in bashing on the rocking prosecutor. If the ebony-clad man himself didn't mind… "The obvious 'stereotypical rocker rebel' look, as well as the cute law drawing." It disturbed the attorney to no end that the drawing of Kristoph bared the Devil twitch on his hand.

He smiled upon examining the picture. "Ah, yes… I drew this picture myself." Upon closer inspection, the same signature that Klavier bears once he composes a song. The lyric sheet for the Guitar's Serenade bared that signature. "And no matter how I try, I cannot bring myself to tear out Kristoph. I know that is what you were thinking." The attorney gave an 'urk' as the prosecutor seemed to read his mind. _Why not? _Thought the now-troubled attorney. _That man was executed for the murders of two people! Why would you want to keep it? Especially when you _know_ that the man wears a Devil on his hand?_ Then a thought occurred to him: _How does Klavier know of the Devil on Kristoph's hand, anyway? _"The truth is… I still love him, as foolish as that sounds." A sort of pity twitched across his face once more. "I stand by the philosophy that no one is born evil. Something happened to Kristoph that either didn't happen to me or that I didn't remember that made him this way. He… was never so evil… not to me. He loved me with all of his heart." The prosecutor heaved a great sigh before turning to his now-friends. "Shall we press on? My room is… it's… something, I'll tell you that much." As the two guests entered Klavier's room, the first that was noticed by the crimson-clad attorney was the obvious purple-and-black motif. The walls were a soft, velvet purple, but the floorboards were a black polished wood, his bed, to the left of the room, was black with a purple cover over it, with purple pillows in the front and black pillows in the back. There was a glass case, much like in his prosecutor's office, which held even _more_ guitars in it. Along this, there were several dressers, all in black wood. A round purple rug bore the Gavinners symbol in a gold color in the middle of the room. Along the side was a black wooden desk with a silver computer. Right next to it was an amp in order for his guitars to be heard and above this amp was a very large window, purple curtains draping over it. "Well, what do you think of it?"

"It's… pretty much exactly like how I expected it to be!" Trucy grinned, beaming at the less-than-rock-star room. "Mr. Hat, what do you think?"

She pushed a switch hidden somewhere in her cape and a rod dipped towards the ground, rose, twirled out, and grabbed Trucy's hat from her head, it's single left arm pinching the brim of the hat. "Oh, it's mahvelous, dahling!" The wooden figure cleared his throat, his wooden lips clacking, and he and Trucy turned towards the rocker. "I don't believe I've evah propahly introduced myself, I apologize. I am youhs truly, Mr. Hat."

The prosecutor was amused. "Pleased to meet you, Herr Hat." He extended a hand towards the wooden figure, who did nothing, as Trucy was unable to control Mr. Hat's arm.

"Oh, the pleasah's all mine, dahling." His wooden lips clapped once more, adding another note of irritation to Apollo's symphony of the events transpiring.

"Goodness me," Apollo groaned. _How long is she planning on flirting with him through that creepily realistic puppet?! _"This room is much brighter than I expected. There's like… no posters here—oh…" He turned his head up to the soft ivory ceiling to find posters of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Linkin Park, as well as much more obscure artists lining the ceiling and the wall above his bed, as well as the walls surrounding the door. "Well, it still lacks some of the angsty themes that are usually in a rocker's domain."

Klavier chuckled; the attorney was unsure if this was due to Mr. Hat's unsettling sort of charm, or from his statement. "What? You expected a lava lamp or something? A disco ball? Those weird little black turny-thingies with the different colored lights that spray all over the room? A bean bag chair? What's missing, Herr Forehead?"

"I dunno… more dark colors, I guess…" The shorter male muttered as he looked about the room. All of the angst-ridden teens on television shows always had dark colors in their rooms. It was probably the window. It should have been closed, or barred off or… something.

The blonde chuckled once more. "Do I seem like that kind of person? Honestly? What next, you'll think my bro's room is some sort of torch-lit dungeon with skeletons hanging off shackles?"

Apollo was baffled. As said before, his imagination can run wild at times. "M-Maybe…"

This time, the taller male laughed outwardly, instead of his usual low chuckle. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant noise as Apollo turned around, startled. "Oh, wow. You really know how to free someone from their bad day, Herr Forehead!" He crossed the room towards his closet and returned with a black-and-purple striped beanie, baring the Gavinners symbol, on his head. "Hope you don't mind; I love this hat. Just like you, Herr Hat. You can't get your hand off it!" He chuckled once more.

"Oh dear…" Apollo made his way to the prosecutor's bed as he attempted to drown out the strange conversation between immature man and puppet. Here, he found things among sketchbooks, photographs, a camera, an open notebook, pencil upon pencil and many scattered color pencils. "I… I didn't know you were a visual arts-type person, Klavier."

The platinum blonde approached his bed beside Apollo. "You didn't…? Well, I am, Herr Forehead."

"And-And it's not just drawings! This is, if you don't mind," Apollo brandished Klavier's camera cautiously, and the latter nodded with a smile. The attorney examined photo after photo. They were beautiful, capturing the essence of nature and human life. "These are… are…" He couldn't bring it in him to compliment the man.

"They are… good, ja?" Klavier asked gingerly.

Trucy and her hideous attraction had found their way to the two when Apollo found himself answering; his volume higher than usual, as it tends to get, "Yeah, it's wonderful! They're-They're, like, perfect! How did you get such an eye for these kinds of things?"

The older male sighed. "I… I don't really know." He collected the camera from his attorney friend. "Some of these pictures… I don't even remember taking them. It's like the powers that be don't want me to remember my past; there's only a few pictures here from before I was fifteen, and they're all just nature. It's odd, like someone took the effort to erase my history from me… When I woke up, I just had this… this itch for the essence of nature, and so I always managed to carry a camera with me, even if I didn't remember bringing it at all." He waved an arm over his bed, showing off his multiple talents. "All of these things… all of these talents… I don't remember having them. I just… do." Apollo made his way to Klavier's sketchbook before the older male revealed, "Don't try to look in those, either. Everything from before I came here was erased."

_And the plot thickens…_ Was the only thought that Apollo could muster before Trucy blurted, "Hey, look! Polly look, it's me!" She pointed to a detailed sketch of herself in Klavier's notebook.

The latter blushed. "I-I am sorry, if you didn't want me to… but I have a habit of drawing people I meet and know… even if they don't know that I draw."

"No, no, it's fine! I look so pretty!" The magician nearly squealed.

"Would you like that picture? I don't have to keep it, if you want it." He chuckled lowly again.

A strange pang of protectiveness washed over the attorney. "No, that's a bad idea. Her dad… doesn't want her dating. What's gonna happen when he finds 'Gavin' scrawled as a signature to a very nice drawing of her that she took home?"

"I suppose so," Klavier chuckled once more. _Does this guy ever _not _laugh at a moment's notice?_ "Oh," The prosecutor hopped up from his bed. "I suppose you all want lunch, ja? Well, I'll go make some. What'd you like?" The ebony-clad man asked the two.

"Ooh… I want pancakes!" Trucy suggested, to which Apollo quickly corrected that pancakes aren't to be eaten as lunch, not even at a guest's. "Maybe just sandwiches? Y'know, something simple? Oh! Oh! Or macaroni!"

"It's up to you, Fräulein."

"Um… macaroni! I never _made_ macaroni before!" She smiled before returning that ghastly excuse for a stage act, Mr. Hat.

Klavier leaned in towards the magician. "Would you like me to show you how to make some? From scratch?"

The cyan-clad magician gasped. "Like, not microwave?"

"Nein, nein. Why would I want to serve my special guests something like microwave macaroni? Ach… no, no… Achtung, follow me, little Fräulein."

The shortest turned to her brother. "You're not coming, Polly?"

"Could I just… loiter, a little bit?" He blushed slightly, combing back his feather-hairs.

The older male shrugged. "Why not? Do what you'd like, the bathroom's down over towards the left."

For whatever possessed him, the attorney felt like he had to say something German… _Klavier once said 'thank you' in German I think… what was it, again…? _"Um, dhanks…" Was the attempted mess that left his lips. _No, that definitely wasn't it…_

The taller male stared at him for a long time before realizing, "Oh! You mean 'danke,' Herr Forehead. 'Danke,' dhan-kay." He pronounced slowly for the American.

"Dhan…kay, Hur Klavier." Apollo clipped out, his blush never fading as he scratched back his antennae hairs. _I should have never tried… God, I must look stupid._

Surprisingly again, the ebony-clad prosecutor laughed outwardly. "Gern geschehen, Herr Apollo." He answered fluidly. "Don't worry; I had that same problem when I first came here to America. Oh, and that was 'You're welcome,' by the way."

"Well, at least I'm learning, huh?"

"At least," The oldest snickered again. "Alright then, loiter away. I'll call you down in about a half hour, ja?" Klavier smiled as he left the room with the cyan magician.

The attorney decided to look around the older prosecutor's room for more clues. Along his notebooks and sketchbooks, he found a leather-bound book without a name on its cover, a ribbon hung to a button binding the book closed. The shorter male was torn. _Should I open it? What if Klavier found out? What if… I dunno, what if something creepy's in there? _Apollo sighed; he'd hate himself for it later, but he felt that he must open the bound notebook. Inside, as the feather-headed attorney dreaded, was Klavier's personal diary. The first journal entry was dated in 2017, when Klavier was fifteen… and it was entirely in German. Not even the crimson-clad attorney's thoughts could sum up his confusion as he witnessed letters that the average American society would never put together and dots and slashes sprinkled over letters, such as the 'ä,' in 'Fräulein.' He began to work his way through the diary until he met the journal entry of the next year. Here, in horrific grammar, was Klavier's first journal entry in English. It spoke of no importance, other than that he had been learning English from his brother, and his excitement about how he could finally write a whole entry in English (multiple emoticons can attest to this). A few weeks further into the entry, the attorney was startled as a burnt-up scrap of paper trickled from the diary.

Puzzled, Apollo collected this, his chocolate eyes gleaming with a sort of acute worry, knots beginning to worm a system in his stomach. _'If this boy knows anything of his past… he could easily be a problem. I have to eliminate this' _And it was here that the note ended abruptly with the chars of fire. _'This?' Who or what is this 'this?' _The attorney could only assume that this 'this' was a 'who,' rather than a 'what,' from the subject of 'this boy' before quickly realizing his situation as the panic of the prosecutor walking in on the diary-snooping overtook him and tucked the note back into the journal entry; he decided it was best to leave the rest of the journal a secret… except… October 9, 2026: the day that Kristoph Gavin was convicted. Lamentably however, there was no journal entry for that date, and it was understandable. Oppositely, the date that read June 11, 2027—the day that Kristoph was executed (and the attorney could never understand why his death came about so quickly), there read two words on the entry: _'He's gone.'_ With the ink of the lines on the page smearing a bit in circular depressions on the page; he'd wept that day, and for the obvious reason.

He shut the journal back up and bound it once more, replacing it on its rightful place on Klavier's bed, a sick feeling in his stomach. Although his brother was a cold-blooded murderer, the younger still loved him so dearly. He decided he could look through the man's sketchbook. _I'm already in deep crap right now for looking at his _diary_, so might as well look at something more within my limits._ Here, he found drawings of nature dating back to when Klavier was fourteen, in 2016; yet in intervals between the pages, there would be noticeable tears, as if the pages had, indeed, been torn out. Is this what the platinum blonde had meant about an effort going on to erase his history? Nonetheless, there were no drawings of the prosecutor's caretaker, to Apollo's lament. As he proceeded later on, he found an adorably cartoonish caricature of Wesley Stickler running off with Trucy's panties, for one, and Director Hickfield flirting with the prosecutor as his face mirrored complete horror with a speech bubble saying, 'I'm a guy…' on it. The next page was the portrait of Trucy that had been seen earlier, the next page being a picture of the defense attorney himself. Several notes (some in English, some in German) were scrawled around the page, one arrow pointing to Apollo's feather hairs, another to his eyes, another to his bracelet… then the next page was another picture of Apollo—noticeably improved (if his godly talent _can_ be improved)—in a different position, a single note on the page pointing to Apollo's bracelet with a sort of exclamation as the note (with several exclamation _marks_ attesting to this). The attorney was disturbed to find Klavier's interest in him, as there were noticeably more drawings of the attorney rather than anyone else over the next few pages. Between the beginning of the Alita Tiala trial and the end of the Serenade trial, there were only a few pictures between each that weren't the crimson-clad attorney, such as another drawing of Trucy, Lamiroir (now known to Apollo as Thalassa), Ema, and Daryan, a caricature of Wocky, the sequence of how Phoenix miraculously only got a sprained ankle from being hit by a car, Ema munching on an irritated Klavier in a Snackoo suit and Mr. Hat randomly assaulting an unsuspecting Apollo. Yet, there were upwards of six full portraits of the younger attorney, and this made him worry a bit. The platinum blonde blushed when he said 'get to know me a tad better' _and_ was drawing multiple portraits of him?! The attorney attempted to cool himself down. _Almost every single drawing had a note of critique somewhere or other; he was simply trying to correct his mistake as it is a peeve of his?_

Apollo felt it was best to banish these thoughts by revisiting his new friend and half-sister in the kitchen, and assist in the macaroni-making.

On the stairwell, the crimson-clad attorney heard this: "No, no… it's alright, Fräulein. I've had this problem for, what? seven years now. It's not a problem; but I hope you understand why I can't date you, ja?"

"Yeah, I do. It's a stupid little crush anyway…" His sister's voice was melancholy. _Had she… really tried to ask out Prosecutor Klavier Gavin?_

Nonetheless, the older brother within him felt he had to protect Trucy from whichever man decided to intrude upon her romantic status, even if she was the one who wanted such a status invaded. "H-Hey! Hey! OBJECTION! HOLD IT! Whatever it takes, both of you stop it right now! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!" He screeched as he ran into the kitchen.

"Oh but if you do, the macaroni'll burn, Herr Forehead!" Klavier's face was sheepish, and yet he and Apollo's beloved sister were in two different rooms, dispelling whatever paranoid thought overtook the man in a moment of protectiveness.

"O-Oh… sorry… I kinda heard and thought… y'know…" The younger male blushed lightly, his hand reaching for his antennae again as he realized just how nonexistent the danger towards Trucy was. "What were you guys talking about?"

"U-Um!" Trucy choked, directing unwanted attention towards her. "I kinda… I dunno… I just started talking and I didn't really pay attention…" She chuckled nervously knocking the brim of her hat with her knuckles. "And when I looked at him, he was looking all freaked-out and I realized I just confessed all of my fangirlism towards him…"

Klavier chuckled. "It was really no problem," He turned his attention towards the magician. "But I hope you understand why 'us' cannot happen, ja?"

"J-Ja…" Trucy muttered. "It's not that I'm sad 'cause I can't date you—I know why I can't—I'm just really, really embarrassed."

"That's really okay, Trucy. I'm perfectly okay, if that helps at all. Don't feel embarrassed." He moved the pan and poured it into a ceramic container. "There, now you two can have your lunch." The eldest of the three began to set out plates for his guests. "And after that, we'll check out some other places, ja? I'm sure, Herr Forehead, you're dying to see Kristoph's office? Then we can check the other aspects of my house; it _is _an oversized one at that… Perhaps my office and Kristoph's? And then the practice room that used to house the Gavinners, and the recreation room…" The man trailed off as his guests ate their lunch. Apollo noticed as Klavier's tone became sad. "It used to feel so complete with Kristoph here. Now it feels far too big for just me and Vongole."

"You ever gonna clean out Kristoph's stuff?" Apollo found himself mindlessly asking, not even a thought to whether it would hurt his new prosecutor friend.

He found out far too late of his actions when the latter chuckled. "I can't… I can't just let it collect dust, can I? I think it's far less respectful to just leave it the way it was. Don't know exactly what I'm going to do with his stuff, or his rooms when they're cleaned, but I can't just leave them the way they are, can I, Herr Forehead?"

The platinum blonde had an excellent point. "Yeah… kinda a stupid question, I'm sorry…"

"Stop apologizing like these things are gonna hurt me!" He demanded a bit too harshly for the innocent chuckle that came afterwards. "Achtung, when I was saying that stuff about the house being too big, it wasn't because I missed my bro, it's because I was worried about all of the homeless kids out there and I felt selfish, and 'cause I don't know what the—pardon my language—_hell _I'm gonna do with all this damned space!"

"Is that a rhetorical question…?" Was all Trucy could say, her lips smeared in cheese. "This is so good! I'm so proud of myself!" She beamed at her and Klavier's joint creation.

To believe that Klavier's house could hold a pool, recreation room, an office for he and his brother, a small library, _and_ a practice room for his music was almost surreal to the lower-class attorney. There was even a random baby grand in the middle of the foyer.

* * *

"This is our piano." The ebony-clad prosecutor brandished the piano with a wave of his hand, his wavy platinum blonde locks shimmering in the light. "But I guess you can tell, ja? Here," He sat himself down, "You know how you say you don't like my music?"

"I didn't say I hated rock, I'm just saying I don't like the volume of it all…" Apollo grumbled.

"And I never said that you said you didn't like rock. I said you don't like my music, which is an affirmative. And I could say the same thing about your talking volume too, Herr Vocal Chords." He chuckled. "But anyway, how's this for a little something milder? I'll let you know that this is my favorite song of all time." And he muttered inwardly, "I just hope I can play it right…!" His fingers danced over the keys, playing the notes for Rufus Wainwright's version of _Hallelujah_, singing along to the song as the music emitted from the masterful pianist. _Why did my mother need Machi when you had talent like this? And… God, how much more can you give this man?_

"Wow…" Apollo marveled, "That's beautiful… Y'know, when you're not drowned out by the other instruments, your voice is… so nice. How do you sing with an American accent?"

"I taught myself. Most foreign vocalists, even English vocalists with accents—such as Australian—that sing English try to keep their accents out so you can understand the message of our songs. You see, when one sings, they focus on vowel sounds. When one speaks, they focus on consonants, so their message can get across. The difference between those two is the ability to draw out notes and change pitch. Since Americans normally speak by enunciating vowel sounds, their form of speech is similar to song, so that is why accented singers sing with an 'American' accent. That's why when I used to go on stage, I'd fake one. Hardly any fans, bar those really nutty-determined ones, knew I was German to begin with. And I learned the piano skills from my brother."

It would only make sense that the elegant murderer would be some sort of classical instrumentalist. "So how do you know how to play the piano?" Apollo asked. He _is_ a guitarist/vocalist; the thought of him being able to play anything pleasant was… surprising.

Klavier chuckled. "They don't call me 'Klavier' for nothing." He turned an eye to a confused Apollo, thinking it cute of his cluelessness. "You know my name means 'piano,' ja?"

"Oh! Y-Yeah, of course!" The crimson-clad attorney blushed slightly, scratching back his feathers. "If Trucy gets this knowledge, Lord knows a nickname will come about." Was all he could think to say to redeem himself.

None of the rooms were that interesting, and alas, Kristoph's office was no dungeon, but his bedroom was a bit more 'something.' It was like a mini-library there in itself. Where Klavier's right wall was a showcase of his guitars, Kristoph's wall was lined with book upon book in a fine, polished wood case, a few things such as a marble sculpture and a violin occupying some space. Despite the blue-and-gray color scheme laid about, and a few decisive details, Kristoph's room was similar to his brother's, replacing some of the rock-and-arts themes with more of a quiet, law-and-reading theme. "Remember how I said that the library was only half the size of a normal one? This is the other half," Klavier snickered, brushing a hand through Vongole's golden hair. The formidable dog whimpered. "Ach, I'm afraid that Vongole must do her… business. I do apologize, but I have to take her out."

"Oh! Can I come too?" Trucy bounced, gaining a disturbed stare from her brother. _She wants to see a dog poop? _He could conjure no rebuttal at the time, his mind warped by whatever reasoning might be behind his sister's excitement towards such a thing. Klavier, too, found no objection (as what Apollo could assume he found no strangeness in Trucy's actions), and silently led the girl to watch the poor dog go about her natural cycle… with an audience.

As the coast cleared, Apollo was again overcome by his wandering eye, and was drawn to a notebook found on Kristoph's desk; it was the exact same as Klavier's diary: a leather-bound notebook, unmarked, and held shut with a ribbon. Apollo undid the ribbon gingerly, and made his way to April 19, 2019 (as it was, obviously, the man's diary), the day Zak Gramarye vanished from the courtrooms. _'Nearly everything went perfect today; the guilty verdict was decided, Phoenix Wright is no longer a so-called 'Ace Attorney,' and my dear brother's fame has reached the stars in both his musical career and in the halls of the law. …But I say 'nearly perfect' for a reason; there have been two problems that have stemmed from the Magnifi Gramarye murder trial. One is the obvious disappearance of the defendant, so as I had said, a guilty verdict was 'decided,' yet not passed. What I am to do about this situation is unknown to me as of yet. Another problem is nagging me far worse, and I am now torn. This problem's name is Klavier Gavin.' _Apollo gasped sharply at this, shocked. His thoughts could not reach him as his eyes pushed them back with the information on the page. _'He has his stardom, yes, but that is not enough to quell him. He is constantly asking how I could possibly know so much about the trial, to which I insist that it was because I was to represent. And yet… he asks of Phoenix Wright. He asks how I could possibly know he was 'corrupt,' and my reason is not working, although the logic is perfect. It's… as if he can sense something about me. It's disturbing. But I am unsure of what to do. I have vowed that if anything leaks about the crime I have committed, that those that have leaked must be silenced… and yet… what if he who has leaked such information happens to be my own flesh and blood? Must I still… silence him? I… am unsure. He is my brother, and I love him, and yet his curiosity and pursuit of the truth might force something upon me that I will never allow myself to be forgiven of. All I can hope is that he asks no more questions of the Magnifi trial. If he gets out of hand… I might indeed have to silence him. Oh, who am I trying to sound so angelic for? If he ends up telling someone of his suspicions pertaining to my crime… I will have to kill my younger brother. I will have to kill Klavier Gavin.'_ Apollo loosed a shaky breath, his Chords of Steel lost somewhere within him. 'I will have to kill my younger brother… Klavier Gavin.' The sheer absolution of it… lost the attorney deep within a swirl of unwanted nostalgia. It was a place called 'the darkness.' The man that stood at that trial nine months ago, who looked across at his distraught, broken brother—who was only destroying himself for trying to find the remnants of the loving brother hidden, or perhaps lost forever, in the murderous monster that Kristoph Gavin had become—and _belittled him_… He had every intention to kill his brother for more than seven years? The young man that lived within the same house… that carried the same name… as the man wrote himself in ink and paper, _his own flesh and blood_… he was willing to throw it all away in the paranoid mess that he had become?

Apollo tore out that hideous page, two reasons shaking themselves from his clouded mind. The first was that he was utterly disgusted at the man that he once called his boss… a man that was willing to throw away the life of a twelve-year-old for simply forging something of his? A man that was willing to throw away the life of his own younger brother—Apollo's mind could not drift far from that focal point—simply because it was he who exposed Phoenix Wright for his 'forgery,' and grew suspicious for his brother's sudden knowledge in the attorney's falsifying habits? The second reason Apollo could surmise was from the target of the entry: Klavier. What if that sweet, wholehearted man was to find that his brother—his very own brother that, to this day, he still felt loved him—had the intent to kill him? He would be beyond devastated. The crimson-clad attorney did not even want to wrap his mind around how the platinum blonde would react to such information. All of his pain deserved to come to pass; the darkness deserved to be purged from his body, and it is. Such information would certainly be undeserving of the pure prosecutor. The chocolate-haired attorney stuffed the horrid piece of paper in to his pocket, tucking in the corners to destroy any suspicions that he'd torn out that curse of an entry as he slammed the diary shut and bound the darkness within it back where it belonged. It was as if he exorcised a demon within those pages.

As if on cue, the light voice of the rival prosecutor was heard conversing with his magician sister. "I know… that'd be so cool if I could teach her how to use a toilet!"

"Yeah, I know! Then you wouldn't have to pick it up anymore, huh?" Trucy chuckled as the two entered the once-attorney's room, Vongole padding in lackadaisically behind them. "Hiya, Polly! Daddy's called, and since we've seen all of Mr. Gav—err… _Klavier's_ house, we decided we'd just rendezvous back at the Agency anyway. If you don't mind."

Although his mind latched onto those last disgusting words in Kristoph's diary entry (the warm presence of Klavier's obliviousness not aiding this in the least), Apollo managed to hear the hollow facts of Trucy's statement. "Yeah, that sounds fine," He droned. "What does he want anyway?"

"I'll just letcha hear it from the frog's mouth!"

Bless it that the attorney was one to be snippy of phrases; his mind was freed of those binding words. "That's 'horse's,' Trucy. 'I'll let you hear it from the _horse's_ mouth.' Not 'frog's.' "

"Whatever! Horse, frog! They're both animals and they both fit a metaphor!" Trucy's hands met her hips as she exhaled sharply in annoyance. "Daddy said to invite Klavier too, if we want. Is that okay, Klavier?"

"But of course," The eldest snapped his fingers to whatever tune was playing in his head at the time. "I've been shut in by the paparazzi the past few days, and now that they've stopped, not a soul wants me to prosecute a case. I'm sure you know why," He leaned in towards the attorney, his cerulean eyes expectant. He wanted Apollo to answer.

He sighed. "It's because of the rumors that you assisted your brother in all of his murders. That you're an accomplice, or possibly the murderer yourself, as the two of you look virtually the same if you put some effort into it."

"All I'd need is glasses and a decent suit, ja?" Klavier chuckled. "But you're correct. Usually, I'd be pretty apathetic towards the paparazzi, because they'd usually be asking civil questions: 'When's the album coming out?' 'Is the band splitting up?' 'Are any of the members of the Gavinners gay?' 'Are you and your brother the same person?' Blah, blah, blah… Some'd do anything for a scoop. I can name one off the top of my head…" He snickered. "So, ja, I suppose I can see Phoenix Wright." His voice quieted substantially. "I'm actually quite scared."

Trucy's eyes laced in confusion. "Why's that?"

"I… am the one who lost him his attorney's badge. It's all my fault he… has lost his job. And to top it all off, I disrespected that man because of what Kristoph had me believe… I didn't even give him that benefit all of these years and now… I am so afraid to face him again…"

Apollo rested a hand on the prosecutor's shoulder as he drew apart his lips to name further details of his treatment towards the ex-attorney. "There's nothing to worry about, Klavier." He reassured quite roughly; he tried his best, but the attorney was never one to be good at these sorts of sentimental things. "It isn't your fault."

* * *

"Hiya, Daddy!" Trucy entered the Agency, wrapping her father around in a tight hug. "So, you've gotta tell Polly why we're here."

"I see you've brought Klavier," Was all Mr. Wright said—completely disregarding his daughter—his lazy eyes gazing on the prosecutor, who turned his head away in shame. "How've you been?"

The platinum blonde hesitated. "Wright…" Was the only thought that could escape his lips. "I-I'm… so sorry…"

"For what?"

"I… It's all my fault… You're not an attorney and it's all my fault, Herr Wright."

"Well… yes and no," The raven-haired man chuckled. "See, I went suit shopping today, since Trucy's… um… 'Mommy' came home today. And well, I don't go suit shopping for any ol' occasion."

"Daddy passed his bar exam!" Trucy bounced, her eyes elated. "He's gonna be an attorney again, since he didn't forge the evidence! It's it great?"

Apollo pondered this for a moment. _One, Thalassa's coming home today? But she's only been out for a few weeks abroad… she has to be gone longer, right? _and _Why didn't he pass the exam earlier? _He decided to act on his second thought. "Um, why didn't you get your exam done earlier?"

Phoenix smiled. "You always act quickly, don't you Apollo? Little Trucy here never specified _when _I passed my bar exam, nor have I specified when I went suit shopping." He chuckled as he answered the question finally, "My first case coming back is in a couple days, and I wanted to celebrate. 'Mommy' found out about this and wanted to celebrate too, deciding to come back from abroad."

"I see," Apollo muttered, his embarrassment not quite as heightened to comb back his feathers. He felt a bit bad for his mentor. _He clipped out 'Mommy' so choppily. It must be hard forcing an immature nature just for your daughter. _

"So why did you bring me along?" Klavier asked, seating himself in all of the clutter. "And… where are we going to eat?"

"I brought you along because you were the poor little medium that got my badge taken away, and I know how bad you felt after Kristoph's trial. I know how bad it was and how guilty you must have felt about making me lose my attorney's badge." Phoenix sang sympathetically. "And I just wanted to invite you here to say 'it's alright now.' And as for the 'where,' we're going to Trucy's 'Mommy's' place, so I thought you'd like it."

"Well, alright… but I should get better dressed, shouldn't I?" Klavier blushed lightly.

"Take all the time you need, we'll all leave at eight, alright?" Phoenix smiled, allowing the blonde to leave and get ready for the night at Thalassa's.

* * *

**A/N:** So, besides the hella long amount that you viewers had to read, how was it? KLAVIER IS A GOD AMONG EVERYTHING. He can be whatever he wants! }:D But, as you'll realize about my writing, everything has a purpose. _Why_ exactly has he these talents? What will be in store at Thalassa's house? And what the hell kind of a sick, demented person _was_ who we knew as Kristoph Gavin?


	5. Chapter Four: Returning

**A/N: **Yeah, I decided to update early; wanna fight about it? This chapter and the next is what's going to drive away from the Fluffy stuff. It has a lot to do with the main theme (and it hints on the secondary theme), and this's what's going to set everything in motion! Well, even faster motion. I have a request for anyone reading: does anyone feel that I'm making Klavi kinda emo-ish? Y'know… like the weakling he isn't? If so, after you read the next chapter, please comment. Althought I'm starting to feel better about the story in general, some themes are still bugging me… :/

* * *

**Chapter Four: Returning**

* * *

_Gavin Household_

_July 23, 2027—6:04PM_

The ebony-clad prosecutor unlocked the door to his house once more, an overwhelming feeling consuming him. _I knew it was a bad idea to bring those two inside of my house…_ He thought in a melancholy tone. The two now-friends did nothing wrong; in fact, one saved him from himself, yet he also brought about the two things that the platinum blonde would rather leave behind: his past that he remembers, and the past that was lost to him.

Vongole seemed to sense this, as she usually tends to do, and jumped up onto the leather couch with her master, licking his face in hopes of bringing up the unexpectedly upset prosecutor just as suddenly. The man brushed a hand through the dog's golden hair aimlessly, his own mind trapped in the unwanted thought of his late brother. Before the horrific mix of emotions said to Apollo that was brought up by his brother—including disappointment, confusion, anger—surfaced, he shook his head vigorously. "I need to take a shower…" The blonde muttered to either himself or to the dog. Either way, he managed to wander into his bathroom, stripping himself of his shirt before a quick jolt of cold water from the faucet snapped his senses awake. He needn't dwell in the past, need he? Regardless, the experience that Apollo returned to him forced it upon Klavier, despite his will to simply leave things behind. The thought of Kristoph Gavin surfaced once more.

_"Bruder! B-Bruder…?" The younger blonde, eight years younger, found himself yelling out towards the older as he, briefcase in hand, neared the black Cadillac. He attempted to use his newly-mastered English skills to converse with him. "Kristoph… where are you going?"_

_Kristoph chuckled as his younger brother's previous language greatly impeded on the words he spoke. "Work, brother, don't you remember?" He answered fluidly, brandishing the badge resting on his lapel._

_"Oh… that. That was the thing that you celebrated about? Your… court debut?" Although it was a shining moment for the new defense attorney, the latter was rather upset; it would be his first time alone since his arrival in America._

_"I'm sorry, Klavier, but there has to be a way I have to feed you, no?"_

_"I guess…" It was here that an idea struck the younger German. "Kristoph," The older male turned an eye once more to his brother. "May I watch your debut? Bitte?"_

_The man became stern suddenly. "No. That's about the most foolish thing you could have asked of me." His eyes then softened as Klavier's grew upset. "I'm just kidding, kleinen bruder. Of course you can come with me. I just… didn't think that the heavy environment would be ideal for you, in such an innocent state."_

_A wide grin grew upon the younger's face. "I'll be fine, Kristoph. You think I'm some sort of wet napkin." He paused a moment. "…A-Americans don't say that, do they?"_

_Kristoph chuckled once more, his eyes warm. "No, Klavier, they do not. Yet, it was a very accurate description of my little brother: you are independent, and a force to be reckoned with, despite your demeanor; you do not break easily. …I'll learn better next time." He then examined the boy eight years his junior. "I'll give you a moment or two to change. Please, it's court; make yourself presentable."_

_"What do you mean…?" Klavier's vast imagination and limited knowledge on such a field worked in harmony to create an intricate fantasy in the life of 'court.' His voice was dreamy as he spoke because of this as his eyes shone._

_"Well, if I must wear a suit, I'd expect you to wear something at least… halfway formal. Just not pajamas." A hand teasingly combed back his younger brother's platinum blonde locks. "And give that rat's nest a good cleaning, too."_

_"It's not a rat's nest!" Klavier grumbled, swatting the hand away. "It's called a bed-bug!"_

_There was a long pause of silence between the two before Kristoph shook his head with a smug chuckle. "I would believe it was called a 'bed-head.' Looks like you'll need another study of that English book again tonight."_

_"Ugh!" Klavier threw his arms up, playful anger mixed with a dash of real fueling his stomps towards inside the house. It upset him that his English wasn't perfect yet; he'd only show himself to others if he could actually speak to them without embarrassment due to his currently-limited knowledge of 'slang.' It would appear that he would be shut in for a few more days. "Fine, but there's nothing wrong with what I said! I just… messed up."_

_Kristoph sighed with a low chuckle, a quick glance at his watch. "What am I going to do with you, little brother?"_

The platinum blonde drew a shaky sigh, perhaps from the steaming water cascading down his bare, frigid flesh, perhaps from the reminiscence. Moments like these… _memories_ like these made the man wonder why. Why had Kristoph done what he did? Why did he throw his life away for a piece of falsified paper? Why did he throw away _Klavier's_? _This afternoon is not going to be easy, is it?_ He found his tanned arms wrapped around one another, just as the crimson-clad attorney had Perceived… and uncovered his true being, hidden even from himself in a veil of denial. He drew them away from one another. Had he not hugged himself, these tormenting thoughts would not have been forced upon him by that crimson-clad Apollo.

_Kristoph._ A name that faded to most of Los Angeles upon the news of his death. Klavier could only wish he had been one of those people; alas, even after every broadcast station had the cold-heartedness to disregard the younger brother's feelings and air his death on every news channel in the state, he could not banish the thoughts of who the man he knew as Kristoph was, and who he had become. The most enigmatic question was ringing in his head: who exactly was it who died on those broadcast stations? Had that been his brother? Or the monster that had killed him long ago and took his body? The blonde did not want to succumb to the possibility that his brother was this true monster. Something else—anything! _anything_ else—could be that man that killed Drew Misham and Zak Gramarye. If not the body, then the soul inside; the love and affection that was given to Klavier on his arrival to America, and most likely before, in the life he could not recall—the love of a brother—that was within Kristoph's soul. There was no possibility in the surviving Gavin's mind that that love simply faded from paranoia. If anything, a demon wormed into the older Gavin's soul, and consumed it. It was the only explanation that Klavier could surmise. After all, he is one to believe in these sorts of things.

And then there was the other topic that Apollo felt it ever-so necessary to mention: _"You feel unloved. It started with Daryan Crescend. He was a friend of yours from the Gavinners, yes?"_ It was humorous how much and how little that man actually knew. The prosecutor silently commended the rival attorney for his accuracy as he attempted to relax under the sauna of his shower. _'A friend?'_ His lips couldn't help but curl as a dry chuckle escaped his throat.

_"Klavier? Stop shaking, buddy." Daryan sang soothingly, a hand rested gently on the shuddering blonde's shoulder. The rhythm guitarist's hair was tied in a high ponytail—no longer God's most atrocious pompadour—strings of white tinges streaking through. His usually cold navy eyes were now warm as he fixed them on the ceruleans._

_"I'm so… I'm so nervous…" The platinum blonde whispered softly, his teeth scraping against his nails._

_The ebony-haired man gently plucked the hand from the younger's mouth. "You really shouldn't do that, Pianissimo. First of all, you'll ruin your good nail polish and second, swallowing that nail polish is probably very bad for you. Is-Is that the one your brother gave you?"_

_"Entschuldigung," Was the distant response that managed to quiver from his throat. "No, no. It isn't; I knew that I'd freak out like this, so I knew not to wear it… I've never… never performed like this."_

_"Hey, you're not the only one, Pianissimo." The older smirked, resting a hand on the blonde's shoulder, who subsequently jolted. "I'm a first on this too, buddy. But hey, we have each other now, don't we?"_

_Klavier hesitated. "Y-Yeah… that we do."_

_A hearty chuckle emerged from Daryan's throat. "Hey, man, it's alright. We're both only seventeen. It's okay to be scared; _I'm_ scared, if you can believe it. But I won't show it, because it's _not_ okay to let that nerve throw you down. You're not gonna let this audience make you run away with your tail between your legs, are you? They came here to see the very first damned concert of the Gavinners, the Double-X Platinum band, playing their kick-ass debut album for the world. You're not gonna deny them that, are you? They came here to see _you_, and the blessing of a voice as confident as it sounded in the studio. Now c'mon," He tossed the younger his rightful guitar. "Let's rock."_

_During the concert, Klavier found himself growing unafraid of the audience before him as each minute passed. It was all simply because of the fellow rookie by his side, Daryan. It was on a break that he found the navy-clad rocker in the hallways; it was the first time they were able to speak since the pep-talk in the wings. "Daryan! D-Daryan…! (Achtung, why can't he hear me?) Wait up, will you?" He took the man by his shoulder, who turned compliantly. "We… We did well, ja?"_

_"Yeah, of course! You… have the voice of an angel, Klavier," His navy eyes transfixed onto Klavier's ceruleans with a soothing intent. …Or perhaps further than that. His own boorish nature impeded on the moment. " 'Specially on stage! Whew!" Daryan chuckled heartily again. "Damn, do you know how to rip up a guitar!" _

_The latter found his face heating as it tinted a light red. "I wouldn't say an 'angel,' but…"_

_"You're too fucking modest, Klavi. You keep thinking you're not good enough! You're God's gift to rock stars! You're, like, actually qualified to be considered a 'rock god.' You're just… wow…"_

_"Thank you…" Was all that could escape Klavier's flattered lips. "This is the nicest I've ever seen you, Daryan."_

_The navy-clad rhythm guitarist laughed outright again, albeit a bit wryly. "Probably the adrenaline rush, Pianissimo. And… y'know…" His voice trailed off as the ebony-locked guitarist grew calm and quiet, seating himself on the couch behind him._

_"What?" Klavier chuckled with a hint of nerve, also sitting down onto the couch. "Why else are you being so nice to me?"_

_Daryan sighed, a long gaze into the blonde's ceruleans. He leaned towards the other cautiously, who did not seem to understand, and gently took the younger's tanned cheek, his lips brushing against the other's as he whispered, "It's 'cause I like you," And it was here that he took the lips of the rocker beside him, molding them awkwardly against the other's—_

Klavier shook his head vigorously, the warm water no longer able to calm him as his own, salty tears replaced the warm caress of the sauna. He simply lay there in the shower, resting his head against his bare knees as both water and tears splashed against it. "Oh, Daryan…" He muttered. "You son of a bitch…" And as the shower no longer comforted him, the prosecutor found it a good a time as any to end it. At least the routine from nudity to clothes would distract him, hopefully long enough to banish the thought of the two traitors—the only two that loved him—from his mind. He decided to initiate that distraction by thinking ahead. _God, I wonder exactly what that diva's house will be like…_ Thalassa Gramarye. Truthfully, he has known the woman for quite a while, yet in his reality, he has known her as 'Thalassa' for not so long; it was as long as she knew herself. To think that the wondrous singer that she was… that her… _talent _passed onto Apollo in such a crude manner. The platinum-locked prosecutor chuckled lightly as he scrubbed his ears of any trapped water, his free hand seeking out for his earring. _It seems that Phoenix and Thalassa have made an agreement of sorts as to who gets rights over the two. It's good to know that Trucy and Apollo have people who love them…_ Klavier felt he had to banish the thought from his head, before his own mind indulged in the loathsome reality that he'd rather keep away from. He took the clasp from the earring, glancing up at the mirror to find the piercing on his ear. He shrieked, the earring tumbling from his petrified hand, his trembling eyesight unable to waver from the figure before him, for it was not him. The figure wore a blue suit, his physique and appearance very similar to the prosecutor's, except for two major differences. A hand reached up to the bridge of his nose, readjusting the glasses glimmered menacingly at Klavier, the glint making the figures eyes unseen. Resting on that hand was the unnatural twitch of what appeared to be a devil. "K… K-Kristoph—!?" Was the single, horrified word that could escape his lips.

The figure's hand fell back down onto the other, making his arms cross against his stomach. "I'm rather disappointed in you, Klavier." The reflection spoke the prosecutor's name with a spiteful, sour edge. "To satiate your mind in things that need not be reminded again. You have only yourself to blame for indulging in our pasts. As well as only yourself to blame for falling into such a spell of… _dark_ emotions when we are mentioned." The man tsked, shaking his head as his hand brushed away a few platinum locks, exposing the Devil again. "It's shameful, little brother."

It was here that, either in a state of panic, or rage, or disbelief—rather, a mix of all three including ever more—Klavier threw his fists against the mirror, shattering the glass and spilling its pieces and his own blood on his hygiene products resting along the vanity. He gasped, unaware or uncaring of his injuries; his thoughts could only focus on a single question: _Was this all real?_ The prosecutor's petrified ceruleans dared to gaze back upon the shattered vanity mirror, only to realize the broken reflections were that of himself. Kristoph… had vanished.

Vongole barked protectively in the distance, and as that distance grew shorter, Klavier's mind finally reached back with reality, he could hear his beloved Golden Retriever padding towards the bathroom door, gently and urgently scraping at it. Her paw tucked itself under the door, awaiting her master's response longingly. Klavier chuckled softly, kneeling down and petting the dog's paw gingerly. It was here that he realized the glass shard embedded in his hand, yet he did not seem to care for it. His mind was too occupied with more important things to worry about such trifling matters. "It's alright, Vongole. I'm alright," He reassured, unsure whether it was to the dog or himself. He unlocked the door, allowing his pet to lap up the cascading streams from his chest and arms. "I'm alright."

* * *

_8:03PM_

"This… This isn't our mother's place, is it?" Apollo murmured. "I didn't know that she had a thing for this color… she always seemed like a cyan, like Trucy."

"Who, Thalassa?" Trucy perked up. "This isn't her house."

"W-Wait! It isn't?! Then who's your 'Mommy?!' " Apollo cried, his volume much louder than it should be, as it usually is. "Unless," He turned to the raven-haired driver (yes, the man did manage to muster a driver's license after seven long years of walking), "You're married?!"

"That I am," Phoenix admitted, his former cobalt-clad look dressed upon him; the only thing that was missing was the golden badge on his lapel that he left at home (how could Apollo miss that he had one in the first place?!), and the former youth he once had. "And you'll meet Trucy's Mommy—my better half—now."

He parked his Toyota alongside an impressive red Mustang, allowing all to exit out of the car. Apollo took the moment to examine everyone, who all looked much more dressy than he; Klavier was in a rich black suit with a purple dress shirt underneath, his hair pulled back in a wavy ponytail as a fedora sat above it. For some reason, his palms were wrapped in bandages, but Apollo figured it had something to do with the sharp strings of his guitar. He looked quite stylish and… _formal_, a look that Apollo never believed that he could pull off. Phoenix was in an iconic blue suit, his choice look in the courtroom, except now the jacket was opened, revealing a white vest underneath, a pocket watch in his jacket pocket. His hair now had a bothersome strand that managed to free itself from the spikes, drooping over his forehead slightly. Trucy was in a sparkling ivory dress that reached just underneath her knee on the left leg, slanting downwards to her ankle on the right leg. She wore the same color on her high heels that Apollo could only pray that she'd be able to walk in, as well as an ivory-colored scarf replacing her usual red one. A pearl string-necklace hung around her neck and her matching gloves were elbow-length. She looked… very beautiful, and Apollo was proud as a brother. He, however, wore his usual courtroom clothes, which started to look less and less formal as he drew nearer to the impressive white mansion. Its trim was crimson.

_So Phoenix's wife's rich… and he gets no cut of it… how nice._ "So why aren't you this rich?" Apollo felt the desperate need to ask.

"Because the memo was, specifically, that I wanted to see how well I could do on my own. It… didn't end up too well, but I insisted that I could be good on my own, until I got my job back. And now that I do, I'll hope that I don't need all this wealth." The cobalt-clad now-attorney smiled as he rang the doorbell, whose sound echoed across the halls of the mansion.

If one was to listen closely, one could hear the light pad of feet coming nearer to the impressive redwood door. As the door opened, the figure of a man appeared. _Probably the butler or something_. He was dressed in a black vest over a white dress shirt, his dress pants a sort of pinkish-red. His hair was a dark gray—not quite black—although the man was far too young to be graying, so Apollo could suppose that his hair was naturally colored this way (and it was far too dark to even be a graying color), and it was kept from his face neatly, his dark eyes set slightly into his face, and although they were warm, Apollo knew they could grow freezing in an instant's notice, producing a foreboding and strict air about him. A strange sort of ruffled tie hung around his neck. "Isn't it odd that the one who was abroad would arrive first rather than the waiting guests?" His deep voice rang richly.

"You could quit the teasing at any time, Miles," Phoenix chuckled.

Some strange sound, as though Apollo's breathing had amplified in his mind, rang in the background, yet the crimson-clad attorney ignored this as he asked, "So, where's this better half you've been talking about?"

The truly spiky-haired attorney drew his lips open to speak, yet the background noise made itself known as he threw his arms around the butler. "Stiefvater!" Klavier cried, a single tear contouring down his grinning, tanned face. "How long has it been?" He drew himself away from the wine red man, wiping the tear from his eye. "This is so embarrassing; I apologize."

"K-Klavier…?" The butler whispered in a sort of disbelief. He, then, smiled warmly, returning the younger's hug. "That is a good question. How long _has _it been?"

Even Trucy looked unfazed by the presence of the butler. "Am I the only one who doesn't know who this guy is?!" Apollo cried—introducing his Chords of Steel to the familiar stranger—now a lone wolf in the knowledge of this well-known butler. "Okay, mister, when are we going to get to meet this significant other that Phoenix keeps talking…" The cobalt-clad attorney wrapped his arms around the wine red butler—and Apollo couldn't even surely say the man _was_ a butler anymore—and pressed his lips to his, chuckling lightly. Their foreheads met one another gently, another kiss molding their lips as all but Apollo watched on indifferently. He, however, was flabbergasted, his eyes transfixed at the intimate scene before him. "A…bout…"

Miles pulled away from his… significant other… and turned towards the chocolate-haired attorney, Phoenix keeping an arm around his waist. "Oh, you. You're the greenhorn that Phoenix talks about so often. Apollo, yes? You're his apprentice and Trucy's older half-brother."

"You're… well-informed." Was all Apollo could muster, his eyes and mind focused on the arm wrapped around his waist. _These two… they're really…?!_ "I'm Apollo Justice, Ace Attorney."

The man chuckled. "You are definitely Phoenix's apprentice, to introduce yourself so; but you need a bit more confidence." Miles imitated his… _husband, Phoenix Wright's_ usual thick dignity. " 'Apollo Justice!' That's such an obligatory name; now imagine you happened to turn out to be a murderer, that'd be so ironic, wouldn't it? Anyway, I'm Miles Edgeworth, Ace Prosecutor, you could say. I'm also Trucy's stepfather and Klavier's old caretaker." _What's with prosecutors being rich and attorneys being poor?!_

The man that took Klavier to America… was this man? Still, Apollo did not have the answer he was looking for. "And…?"

"And?" Both Phoenix and Miles repeated, before Miles realized the nature of the question and responded, "Oh, but I thought it was obvious. Yes, Phoenix and I are married."

Apollo's eyes met his mentor's in utter disbelief. He wasn't one to disprove of this, yes, but the idea alone was just so… so strange. "Seriously?!" He cried, his volume much too loud again.

"It's true," Phoenix smiled. "We've been married for four years now."

"Yup!" Trucy smiled with an affirmative nod. "I remember when he and Smiley started dating. It was so cute! And then—And then I got to be the flower girl at their wedding!" In the distance—and that distance grew shorter—a yipping could be heard. Trucy gasped as the baby Akita ran up to her. "Ah! Is this Rokushi, Smile?"

"Indeed that is. I'll have to give Dick a nice tip for raising him so well." Miles muttered thoughtfully.

Trucy gasped, a sudden sadness filling her eyes. "What happened to Pess?"

"Pess…" Miles trailed off, his voice mirroring the heartbreak that Trucy's voice held. "She's… passed. We gave all of her puppies a happy home, though, and now we have Rokushi to fill her legacy."

The ivory-clad magician refused to let tears fill her eyes, squeezing the puppy to her chest. "But now we have you, huh little guy?"

Miles threw on a magenta suit-jacket, leading the guests inside with a, "I shouldn't leave you all out here. Come in, come in." As the group sat down in one of the rooms, conversation was made to catch the man up since his travels. The small talk went along, and Miles conversed with Klavier (who seemed much more distant and distracted somehow) on how much he'd accomplished since their meeting nine years ago, and Miles was humbled by Klavier's reasoning behind prosecuting. Phoenix recalled tales when he and his husband worked together to piece the truth, as Apollo and Klavier had (which combined with Klavier's possible blushing and his excessive drawings of the crimson-clad attorney only unsettled him that much further, to know he and Klavier's actions were similar to a now-couple's…) and how Phoenix apparently fell off a bridge (_to which he only sustained a cold? How lucky is this guy?!_) and Miles had to stand in as his defense attorney. The news of Phoenix's passing of the bar exam gained a kiss between the two (which to no end disturbed the attorney, and he felt so sour inside for being so negative towards them). It was surprising that only he and the platinum blonde had not spoken to each other the entire time.

As the prosecutors spoke, Apollo's eyes were bothered, and it wasn't his bracelet forcing a Perceive on him. There seemed to be some sort of haze… a very light, almost nonexistent mist shrouding behind Klavier's back, measuring slightly above his head. The haze was black. Black, with the thinnest red and blue threads spiraling around it. Gleaming yellow swirls, which Apollo could only suppose were eyes, gazed down upon the young prosecutor expectantly, hungrily.

"I suppose we're all getting hungry now?" Miles chuckled lightly, snapping the attorney from his focus. As he turned back to his rival prosecutor (who was looking at his caretaker attentively), the haze had recoiled slightly, cautiously. The lightning-yellow eyes fixed themselves on the crimson-clad attorney with a sort of… authoritative expectancy, forcing nerve of Apollo and breaking the 'eye contact' between the two. "Come now, let's all have dinner."

* * *

**A/N:** So, for all of you that guessed back in chapter 2, you were RIGHT! Miles _is_ Klavi's old caretaker; I thought it was perfect to tie him in with Klavier like that, since Miles was raised by Germans and traveled abroad for two years. I really, really liked this chapter, cuz SMILEY WAS IN IT! And yes, Smile(y) is my nickname for Miles (y'know, anagrams and what not), and I felt that Trucy would be the one to use it, with her having known him like a friend/father. GAH! I WAS SUCH A HAPPY GIRL TO FINALLY MARRY THEM! I just fangasmed from that (cuz, c'mon, any yaoi writer would like to marry them), and I felt that it was appropriate, except making a reason for Phoenix being poor was kinda hard.

I like how I portrayed Daryan. I think I captured his essence (minus the rudeness, as he wasn't supposed to be) pretty well. And I like the nickname he gave Klavi (Klavier = Piano in German; Piano = soft, Pianissimo = Very soft; crescendo (Daryan's last name, Crescend, comes from this) = to get louder gradually, so there is _symbolism_ between Klavi's nickname and Daryan himself! :DDDD), cuz it works. ***SPOILERS! SKIP IF YOU'RE AGAINST THESE THINGS!* **For all the Gavinnershippers (or whatever the hell you might call it; that's what _I _call it, anyway), there's gonna be a little bit for you all later on, but I'm gonna tell you now: it's not pretty. Y'know, Klavi being super nice and Daryan being a manipulating douche _that is now in prison_? Yeah, it doesn't end well. ***SPOILERS END HERE***

I feel so bad for poor Klavi. Now he's even _seeing_ his *sick bastard of a* brother *who wrote that he was gonna kill him* everywhere! _And_, if you've pieced it together by now, he and Daryan _definitely_ have a connection! (Is it Dare-ee-an (like Darian) or Dahr-ee-an? I just don't know :/) All he wanted was to live a simple, civil life. Too bad life gave him a boot to the head. And LITTLE KLAVI (he's supposed to be sixteen, but still) MADE ME SQUEE INSIDE! He's supposed to be immature (as he's lost his memory, so he doesn't know a lick about anything).

So, now we've added another minor-ish character (sorry, Miles). He does appear a lot, but his role is kinda minor to the storyline. Hell, if I really wanted to bring this story down to the bear minimum, I'd just have Polly, Klavi (and possibly Nick and Truce), and that'd be all, so I say PACK IN THE CHARACTERS! I'm bringing in four in the next chapter (two supporting-minors (this is what I consider Miles to be), two minor-minors), and any viewer who's played all the games (except Gyakuten Kenji 2. I can imagine that, as I've not played the game either (damn not localizing!)) will LOVE the next chapter for the characters. Trust me. But the chapter itself is a really bittersweet one.

*Draws in deep breath* Well, that was about three mouthfuls, cuz a lot happened in this chapter, in _less_ words than the last! _How is that possible__?!_


	6. Chapter Five: The Root

**A/N: **So, where were we left last time? Ah, yes, the evil-looking thing emerging from Klavier and dead Kristoph in a mirror? Yeah… sounds about right. Uhm… Miles's house, and other things… So, this chapter will introduce some of the older characters (yay!), so there's probably one for everyone. ^^ Gah… I feel so bad for Klavi… he's losing his mind… :/

Yeah… hehe… I'm beginning to notice a trend with this story, and that's that it is no longer a cute little Mystery story (and not really a Romance so much as others :/ Oh well.) and that the image does not match at all what the story is about… ^^' So, I won't change the picture since the Romance amount, though a bit low, is uniform throughout the story, but I _am_ changing two things: **the rating for this story is now Rated M **(So if you no likey _yaoi_-yaoi, no like, no read)**, and this story is now going to be a** **Romance/Supernatural **(since it still doesn't strike me as a Horror just yet. I mean, it's not as good as some of the crap I've read… :/)**.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Root**

* * *

_Gavin Household_

_July 25, 2027—7:26AM_

The young prosecutor could only wonder how many key words could set him off towards depression. It was quite annoying, he thought, to be so crippled just by simple words. _How I wish I could just… forget these years, just as I've for my first fifteen… _The keyword of last night happened to stem from his own mistake: nail polish. Used as a poison on Vera Misham, applied by Kristoph on everyday occasions… and once used by Klavier. Except he preferred his polish with a bit of color: the average rocker's black. He had decided that it would be harmless to wear it once more. Oh, how wrong he was! With that simple dash of color upon his fingertips, his mind had condemned itself to further depression. The simple question asked upon by his old caretaker bringing about such embarrassed, traumatized silence. Those bottles should have been destroyed weeks ago, to rid himself of the crippling insecurity, yet he could not bring himself to do so. Why?

The prosecutor sought for a reason as to why his subconscious mind could not part with such useless trinkets. Perhaps, then, the bottles were not so insignificant…? The platinum blonde prosecutor quickly hurried to his bedroom, shuffling through his dressers, one hand reaching inward to excavate the contents, the other dialing a number upon his cell phone. Bringing the speaker to his ear and the mic to his lips, his other hand finally found its treasure.

It is never a good habit to leave a phone near one's shower. The detective's heart jumped upon the sound echoing through the tiled room. "Jeez-_us_!" She hissed, water streaming from her fingertips as her thumb pressed against the answering button. _Whoever the hell wants to call me at seven in the morning _definitely _has another thing coming! _"What? What the _hell_ do you want? It's not my shift yet, damnit, so if you wanna make a call about asking me to investigate, you have to wait 'til later, 'cause—"

"F-Fräulein?" Was the strangely _meek_ voice of her investigative partner, Klavier Gavin.

A shriek tore through the speaker, followed by a clatter on the receiving end. Ema quickly gathered her phone. "Gavin?! Working hours aren't 'til—"

He hushed her softly. "Yes, I know, Fräulein. I just… I need you to do something for me. I have a favor to ask of you."

"A favor? Well it can wait 'til work, can't it, Gavin?" She spoke the man's surname with a clipped edge. "The less encounters I can have with you, the better."

"But Fräulein," The voice sang teasingly, "I need all of your forensic science skills to help me out here."

"I. Could. Care. Less." Was the listless response on the receiving end. "Look, Gavin, your problems aren't mine. I don't have to dirty my hands in anything I don't have to."

"Fräulein, please, I need to do an atroquinine test." There was a hint of… something lingering in the prosecutor's voice.

_Probably from that case…_ Ema excused this and continued with her answer, "I don't want to be disturbed, Gavin. Just 'cause you get gifts from your screaming fangirls does _not_ mean that they're poisoned and are going to kill you. Stop being paranoid, will you?" She hissed. "Now if that is all, I have to say, Gavin, goodbye—"

"N-No! Please, _Ema_!" The detective held the phone now with an eerie tight; the glimmerous fop's voice… was _desperate._ Ever-so extremely desperate, and pleading. "Please don't hang up… please."

"G-Gavin…?" She muttered. "You okay?"

"No," There was a weak chuckle on the other end. "I… I need to know. I need to know just what kind of man my brother was. I need to know who Kristoph Gavin really was." The voice produced Ema could hardly believe was Klavier Gavin's—the annoying, rocker god-mentality, glimmerous little fop… had broken under the weight of the burden his brother left behind, and the auburn-haired detective could believe it, if only barely.

She heaved a heavy breath. "O-Okay," She whispered. "Just be here as soon as possible, and be sure to bring samples."

Upon entrance, the violet-clad prosecutor seemed just so noticeably off, Ema felt no need to question it. This test was going to be painful, no matter how hard she would try to fold the wool over her investigative partner's eyes. "Okay, um… Gavin, what do you want?" She tried to seem her usual touchy self, yet knew she could not. Her _feeling_ towards the rocker could not be hidden in a state of moodiness, especially considering his visible condition.

"These," He muttered, producing two bottles of nail polish from his pocket. Ema knew how easy a joke could be made from this, yet decided to hold it back. "My… My brother gave them to me as presents. He knew how much I'd always wanted to try it." The auburn-haired detective could notice they were the exact same brand. "I was on and off of it for a while; I used it from my time in America until I was seventeen, got off it, then back on when I was twenty, then, again, off it. I still consider myself not to use nail polish, but I do on occasions." The prosecutor trailed off, a slight smile on his face. It quickly dissipated when the matter at hand resurfaced in his mind. "A-Anyway, I need to know the contents of these bottles." He held one with less polish inside. "First, this one. I want to see how this one reacts." Atop all of the things that Ema was silently noticing, and therefore judging, she could notice the hurry in the prosecutor's voice.

"Um, okay," It was here that the detective used her love of forensic science in the form of an atroquinine testing fluid and sprayed a mist on the bottle. "Hm, nothing. That's good, isn't it… Ga…vin?" A shift to the rocker could tell that he was in no way relaxed. If one was to go out on a limb, one could say he was ever more the tensed.

His fingers were more delicately pinched around the other bottle. "This bottle is the younger, my second ever bottle of nail polish—the other one was my first. I got it right after that damned case that disbarred Phoenix Wright." The younger Gavin's voice was shaky as it said, "It was given to me by my brother as a 'congrats.' I used it on my second ever concert. That was the only time I ever used it."

"Why not the first?" Ema was cautious as she asked.

"Because… I had a habit." He muttered. "When I would be nervous, especially when I had nail polish on, I'd scrape it off."

Ema's expression was perplexed. "Scrape it off?"

"With my teeth, yes." Ema gasped softly upon the connection. "I… I didn't want to use it on my first concert, because I knew I'd get nervous and my nails would look like zebras during the concert, and oh, how humiliating that would be!" He chuckled wryly.

"So, you think that your…" A lump formed in her throat. "Your own brother poisoned that nail polish, because he knew your nervous habit (which is oddly similar to Vera's)," She muttered. "To… To kill you?"

The violet-clad Gavin's answer was an unsure sigh, surrendering the bottle to his investigative partner. "Why don't we answer that ourselves?" He finally said emptily.

With a shaky sigh, now knowing that the burden—uncovering the possible hideous secret of Kristoph Gavin—was on her shoulders, she gently pressed down upon the spray's head, puffing out another mist upon the polish. "My… My God, no…" The lab coated detective whispered, unable to turn towards the violet-clad prosecutor. The bottle was now that of tinted blue nail polish, the sign of atroquinine corruption.

Kristoph Gavin had made an attempt on his brother's life. Ema finally craned her neck towards the surviving Gavin. His expression was unreadable as he finally muttered, "How nice," His words were soon confusing and concerning to her, "Thank you, Ema. I'll be taking my leave now." Was the empty response he posed.

The detective knew this response was unlike any human being. It had to be some sort of ruse. "Gavin… you're not okay."

Another dry chuckle. "No one said I was."

"B-But you're not… you're not doing_ anything_." Her voice broke with concern, and perhaps something more. "You're not crying or-or anything! What's wrong?"

There was not a single hint of emotion as the prosecutor spoke, "There is nothing wrong here, Fräulein; I've just come down the road to the truth, that is all. Now, as I've said, I will be taking my leave."

Somewhere deep within the detective, she knew this could not pass. The lifelessness that the prosecutor was now experiencing was to hide his true pain. And she was one to know that you have to face true pain head-on in order to alleviate it. "Wait… G-Gavin…! No, Klavier!" She grabbed her investigative partner's wrist in a stubborn tight. "Don't leave… not now,"

The violet-clad prosecutor did not turn an eye as he murmured, "And why not? Now is as good a time as any,"

"Because you're hiding yourself again." She nearly growled. "Trust me, Apollo told me everything. You… don't like it when things concern you. You don't want anyone to worry about you. You try to hide all the pain inside you in hopes that it'll go away on its own, but it _doesn't_, Klavier! I'd know," Ema's voice quieted considerably at the reminiscence. "I had thought that I'd killed a man once, and I tried to hide the guilt and shame of it for a whole year." She whispered. "And I had to pass by that man's brother nearly every day of my life. It turns out it wasn't my fault, but the sheer guilt that I had when I thought I'd done it… I didn't know how to deal with myself. I… I-I could hardly even face my sister… Please, Klavier, I know that that fact just now hurt you, and I don't want you to keep thinking you have to hide that. Sometimes it's best just to let it all out. Just… show me how you're feeling." Despite her reputation that she tried so desperately to uphold, the auburn-haired detective couldn't help but brush a platinum blonde lock up from the prosecutor's forehead. "I know you need a good cry, Klavier, and that's not always a bad thing. So just go ahead." She smiled warmly. "We're friends now, after all."

Finally, after a long while of silence, Klavier opened the door to his heart as a tear trickled from his eye. But his response was not at all like the detective expected. "It's always… when I hurt." He whispered as more tears began to contour down his tanned face. "Whenever I'm upset, _that_ is when people are so quick to call me a friend; I only get friends… when I am weak." Ema's expression grew shocked, but the prosecutor gave no time to let her speak. "It's when I was crying on how little friends I have with Apollo, and now it's when I realize my brother had tried to kill me all these years… _that_ is when people decide to be my friends… never when I'm stronger. And those friends… those pity-friends… they're the ones that end up using me." Ema now opened up her mouth to speak, and even produced a noise, but Klavier would not hear it. "Kristoph pitied me because I could not remember anything of my life. Daryan pitied me because I was so inexperienced in a band, and yet the Gavinners depended on me being a singer _and_ guitarist… and they used me, and betrayed me." He buried his ceruleans in his tanned hands, the stinging tears dripping from his bandaged palms. "They _all _betrayed me…!" He sobbed.

Now, the detective was unsure of what to say. She wanted so desperately to reassure her now-friend (in which she felt bitter somehow in calling him this), but she knew, deep within her, she'd abandon him one day for her profession as a forensic scientist, and a rotting feeling filled her stomach; she'd betray him, eventually. She was using him now as a medium to get a better job, and would eventually betray him, just as he predicted. Could she even dare to call him a friend…? So instead, the detective simply stood there, eventually bringing the prosecutor into a hug, allowing his pain to escape him with his tears.

* * *

Although Ema had reassured that crying would make the pain disappear, it did not help the prosecutor in the least. It made him feel like a pathetic weakling, among other negative things. Atop this misery, he was physically drained; the violet-clad Gavin had failed to sleep well in the last few nights, ever since he saw his brother in the vanity mirror. Since, he has been plagued by nightmares—either sickening ones of Klavier's tormented mind depicting his brother as a sadistic sociopath, or pleasant ones—memories—of the joyous times shared between the two brothers. Somehow, obviously, the pleasant memories dug deeper under the prosecutor's skin. He held back the stinging tears; tears only bring about friends that pity him, and those who become friends for such pity realize his weaknesses. This is how they use him. The only thing that crossed his mind that Klavier was actually accepting of at the time was the thought of his bed. Sleep. Perhaps sleep would be best, but then again, sleep brings about those horrid nightmares. Nonetheless, he felt it was essential that sleep be made.

He moved along the foyer hallway, Vongole padding along compliantly, before abruptly stopping at a entryway arch. He brought his feet back a few meters before his eyes captured the sight of his reflection in the mirror and fixed itself upon it, horrified. Except now, his mind and body were too thoroughly exhausted to move any further. There, again, stood Kristoph Gavin, replacing the younger's reflection image. "Pathetic, kleinen bruder, to take advice from a worthless detective girl to _cry_." His lip twitched slightly in distaste, "What self-respecting man would cry in the presence of a woman? Or any human being, for that matter?" Kristoph chuckled darkly. "And what of the thoughts plaguing your mind? Out of all of these men and women that have now called you their 'friend,' who do you think is realistically going to _be _your friend?" Klavier shook his head slowly. _Firstly, you are dead. How and why are you in all of the mirrors I happen to cross by? Second of all, how can you suddenly read my mind?_ Klavier would have liked to banish the reflection in the mirror simply as a figment of his imagination, a part of himself—a part of his conscience—one that symbolizes the secretive, unconfident and insecure side of his nature. This conscience could, somehow, have taken the form of Kristoph Gavin, but, deep within the recesses of his crumbling mind, Klavier knew that this was no conscience. "Do you honestly think that Apollo Justice needs you? That, once he becomes a famous man, he will remember you? You will simply have been a 'rival prosecutor' in his eyes, and the case that tore your life apart will simply have been a 'case.' And along with his care comes Trucy Wright's. She knew she had no chances with you romantically, and now with your approval of denial, she no longer needs you as well and will follow suit with her brother, no?" Another twitch from the deceased Gavin disturbed the younger even further. "And what of that Ema girl?" There was a sort of purr in Kristoph's voice now. _This_ is how Klavier would know that this figment was no figment at all, as this truth was hidden even from his own eyes, "What of this girl that you… are smitten with?" The younger Gavin gasped sharply, having only realized now the truth to Kristoph's words, and turned his head away from the man. "You know she likes you not, and, despite that, you try with your sweet and harmless nature to win her heart. And yet you know you cannot. Deep within, even deeper than the thought, itself, of being attracted to her, is your realization of this fact: you cannot have her. You are simply a catalyst to another's success. After all, she constantly complains she does not want to be a detective. What will be of you when her career as a forensic scientist takes wing? She, like all the others, will forget you."

"Kristoph…" Klavier whispered, his mind, body and voice now incredibly weak, "Please… stop this…"

"Stop what, brother? Stop revealing the truth you ever-so desperately seek?" The prosecutor growled softly. "Achtung, brother, I seem to have forgotten to ask—after all, it is what I came here to ask: may I… borrow you?"

Klavier's thoughts no longer reached him, his body taking commands on its own. "Wh—? B-Borrow? How?"

"Well, it's a simple 'yes' or 'no,' brother, to find out." The glare of Kristoph's glasses had not faded, rendering his expression, again, unreadable.

But no matter what unreadable expression lay on his face, the younger Gavin's feeling of foreboding disallowed any sort of a answer. His exhaustion still present, the platinum blonde prosecutor's feet finally managed to awaken from their numbed slumber as he fled from the mirror, not resting until he had reached the kitchen at the end of the hall, seating himself on a chair with a gasp. He knew, however, that he would be forced back to that mirror and, as a precaution, he drew out the chef's knife from the knife set resting on the counter. However, when he appeared back at that accursed mirror, the only reflection to be seen was the slightly manic, panicked form of Klavier Gavin.

* * *

_10:04AM_

"Remember now, girls, we have to be quiet. Miles and I have a guest sleeping upstairs." Phoenix whispered thoughtfully, gazing around his makeshift office, Miles's mansion.

"Is it that greenhorn you've been going on so much about, Nick?" The spirit master smiled. "And what about the other, huh? The one that Pearly says Trucy says is cute?"

"Oh dear," Phoenix muttered with a tsk, taking a sip of his coffee. "So, what has become of you two in the past seven years?" He felt it only necessary to ask; Maya had grown considerably. She, to Phoenix's astonishment and disbelief of his age, was older than both Apollo, and Klavier Gavin. She was now twenty-six, but her spunky personality had not changed, albeit her grasp on reality had tightened a bit.

Maya smiled. She hadn't seen her friend in so long; her busy schedule had prevented it. It had just past her by a few months ago that the attorney had been disbarred at all, and was now re-hired. "At home, doing what my mom would be so proud of." She drew a great sigh. "It is _not_ easy being the Master, Nick, believe me! You can't imagine how much more training I've had to go through…" She pouted teasingly. "I haven't tasted a hamburger in seven years, Nick. Seven. Years. I haven't _lived_ in seven years! Speaking of which, we need to head down to the burger joint later. I'd hope being married to a fancy rich prosecutor would mean that you're rich, too."

Phoenix chuckled lightly. "Eh, I told him to cut me out of the profits until I could settle on my own. But, well, since I got my job back, I figured that'd be good enough." He then realized the intent of the question, "But that does _not_ mean I'll get you a buffet of burgers!"

"Aw, c'mon, Nick! I need burgers! I neeeeeeeeed buuuuuurgers!" She drew out her words hungrily. "I've been starved of them for seven years, and I need to replenish seven year's worth of them!"

Simultaneously, Pearl sighed dreamily, her mind straying from the topic. "And here I was, thinking that you'd be with Mystic Maya when you grew up… but I was wrong. Wrong about every depiction of romance known to man."

The raven-haired attorney knew not to comment, yet he could only note to how much Pearl had _grown_. She looked like a younger version of Mia when she used Pearl's body. She'd become a down-to-earth, mature young lady. "So, Pearls, what of you? Well," He gazed up at the stairwell thoughtfully. "I don't really need to ask you that. Truce already tells me enough about her best friend."

The caramel-haired channeler chuckled. "Does she now? Good to know she does care about me on the other side, not that I ever doubted her! She's what's kept me informed on you, Mr. Nick, but I, like Mystic Maya, have been busy with things in the Kurain Village, as well as the fact that I have school."

As the old friends reminisced and revealed all what had happened in the years preceding them, one of the Gramarye children had woken from their sleep, padding lightly down the stairs to observe the conversation. Phoenix laughed finally before they reached the matter at hand. "So, the investigation for my first trial starts today, meaning to say that trial starts tomorrow, and that, I'm guessing, is why you two came all the way down here to see little ol' me?" It was unlike anything the young Gramarye had ever seen of her father; he was much more laid back then ever seen before.

"Of course, Nick! You're finally an attorney again! Of course we have to be with you on your second-ever first court debut! Now get on it, tell us the details, fast!" Maya's expression was suddenly business-like, a trait the spiky-haired attorney could only assume had been from all of the time lapsed in the Village.

A meek, tired voice chirped from the stairwell. "Yeah, Daddy, tell us about the case."

"Truce!" Pearl cried, running up the stairs and hugging her best friend one year her junior. "You look so cute in your pajamas. But anyway, Mr. Nick, we'd better catch ourselves up in this case, shall we?"

The maturation of Pearl continued to surprise the attorney, and made him long even further for his lost youth. "Well, today, we have the trial against our defendant, Adrian Bellinger, he's seventeen, and yes, he's a boy, unlike our last Adrian." Maya chuckled lightly at the bittersweet reminiscence. "The victim is a Miss Destiny Feights, nineteen. That's all the information I was given, and that Adrian is in questioning right now, so we should probably explore the crime scene. Any questions?" The raven-haired attorney turned to his daughter to find her pinching herself. "Um… Trucy?"

"Is this really all real? You're really going to go back to court tomorrow?" Her voice was uncontrollably giddy as she bounced.

"Yes, Trucy, it's all really real; I _am_ going back to court tomorrow, but I don't know a lick about what I'm dealing with. I don't know the condition of death, the murder weapon, or even the prosecutor! But I'm just getting started. Just beginner's bad luck."

Trucy's bouncing became wild and she finally threw herself up the stairs, "POLLY!" being heard in the distance. Phoenix neared the stairwell, where the groggy and giddy conversation unfolded. "Polly! Daddy's really going back to trial tomorrow! He's really going!"

"Oh, that's cool," The voice was flat from tire. "Tell him he left his badge back at the Anything Agency."

"C'mon, Polly! You have to meet his assistants!"

" 'Assistant_s_,' like with an 's?' You're saying that he has two?"

"Yup! Now c'mon Polly! Get off your lazy butt! And put some pants on!"

"As long as it's not Miss Magic Panties, I'm fine."

Phoenix chuckled lightly at this. "They're characters, aren't they? And guess what, ladies? He's a keeper; he's my adoptive daughter's half-brother, so I kinda _had_ to adopt him into the family, y'know?"

Pearl laughed, a light blush to her face. "Looks like he's one to strain his voice; it sounds hoarse. Kinda a shame, really. It sounds so beautiful."

"Probably is, with all his sleep-shouting." The raven-haired attorney picked his ear clean of last night's subconscious Chords of Steel training. He only hoped that the 'so beautiful' comment came because he was Thalassa's son, and that the elegance in her voice passed on to him (to which Phoenix knew that this was a complete and utter lie), if only to distract himself from realizing Pearl's adolescent hormones acting up.

Apollo finally appeared at the stairwell, trudging down the stairs with a rub of the eye, wearing… footie-pajamas. " 'Sup," He muttered groggily, seating himself aimlessly on the couch, sprawling himself along it. "You two must be the spirit channelers that Phoenix keeps talking about," His hand shot up a wave. "Hi, I'm Apollo."

"Polly!" Trucy scolded. "That's no way to greet yourself! Especially not to Pearly and Aunty May!" (To which she pronounced as 'my'), "C'mon, use those steel chords of yours!"

With a stretch, the chocolate-haired attorney reluctantly sat up, turning an eye to his boss's two best friends for the very first time, the first sight catching his amber eyes being the sight of a caramel-haired girl, noticeably younger than he, turning away from him, a deep blush overcoming her pale face. "That's Chords of Steel, Trucy, and I kinda can't use them, either." He coughed. "I dunno why, but I just know that I'm losing my voice. Anyway," He turned to the two of Phoenix's friends, who he noticed were dressed similarly, though the ebony-haired girl's clothes were much more flowing, and was embedded with pearls. "I'm Apollo Justice, Ace Attorney."

"You're definitely Nick's apprentice, to introduce yourself like _that_; but you need a bit more confidence." The older girl grinned.

"Funny, I could have sworn I heard that but—err, Phoenix's husband—say something to that extent." He muttered before turning his attention back to the two. "And you two are…?"

The older girl's grin did not fade as she introduced herself, "I'm Maya Fey, master of the Kurain Village Channeling Technique!"

Apollo's attention suddenly snapped awake. " 'Fey…?' Are you related to Mia Fey, by any chance? 'Cause she was… she was my inspiration before Phoenix was."

"Oh really?" Maya became excited, "I'm sure she would have loved to hear that. Yeah, I'm her sister." She turned to the younger, blushing girl, a flourish of her hand, "And this is Pearl Fey, my little cousin and Trucy's best friend."

Phoenix muttered something under his breath, but Apollo was able to catch it, "And apparently your crush,"

"C'mon, Pearly, say 'hi!' to Apollo. I'm sure he doesn't bite."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure my bark is way bigger than my bite," He chuckled with a bit of nerve.

The girl called Pearl finally turned an eye to Apollo, yet did not turn fully. "You… You're really handsome," Was the surprising response that emitted from her lips.

Apollo's face heated up with both shock and flattery. Most would reserve that title for the rival prosecutor. Suffice it to say that she probably had not met him as of yet. "Um… thanks…?" He did not know how to respond any further. Trucy had a crush on Klavier, a man who was too far out of her league. How could he possibly put this girl down without too much harm…? "I… I-I-I hope you realize that I can't date you… 'cause you don't look over eighteen, are you?"

"No," She muttered, her voice heartbroken, "I'm sixteen. But who am I kidding? I know that that was a stupid thing to say," The caramel-haired channeler suddenly became abrasive, "And I'm not trying to ask you out anyway! I just wanted to say you look nice!"

"Y-Yeesh," _How come I suddenly feel like my high school crush just slapped me in the face? Jeez, this girl's words cut deep! _"I'm sorry,"

Shockingly, _Phoenix's_ voice rose out to the attorney, now threateningly, "Sorry for _what_ exactly, Apollo?" It was surprising; it had the same sort of caution as a father would have. Perhaps this girl was once a daughter-figure to him…? "Anyway, I believe that we have to get back to the case at hand."

"Oh, about that," Apollo perked up, "I have a case today, too." He smiled, resting his arm on Trucy's shoulder belittlingly. "Trucy and I have a case defending a political figure's son." His voice suddenly became desperate, "I'm freaking out about this one! B-But anyway, the governor was murdered three days ago, and his son is the defendant."

"Robert Albertson was murdered? Jeez… the things that slip right under your nose…" Phoenix's voice, to Apollo's relief, was now back to its usual, laid-back tone. "And Alex is under suspicion?" He tsked in disappointment. "Poor kid,"

"What do you mean?" Apollo's voice was curious, although it held a bit of caution. "You know he didn't do it?"

" 'Course," There was a wry smile upon the older attorney's face. "All you need is one look at the kid. He's only seventeen, for the love of God! News was eating away him, let me tell you, and that's how I know of all this; he… isn't very mentally sound." _Great. Another 'normal' defendant. Just another day at the job. _"He's struggled with depression for a long time, since his mother died. And all the media cares about it getting the next big scoop outta him. It's almost like they _want_ him to be depressed, so they have a constant source of news. It's cruelty."

"So _that's _how you know he's innocent?" The greenhorn attorney's voice was rather disbelieving, as he has not yet acquired the belief in his clients quite yet.

"And, on top of that, his father was the only reason he didn't kill himself." Phoenix's voice grew stern. "He loved that man to death. He'd take a bullet for him. Hell, the reason he comes along to almost all of Robert's meetings was from the worry that someone might have it out for him, and if that happened, Alex would be the shield."

Apollo's face was suddenly flabbergasted. "J-Jeez… sorry I doubted him…"

"One. Look. That's all you'll need."

"How… I'm sure the media doesn't know _that_ much! How did you get your hands on that knowledge?"

"Because Miles prosecuted against the man that killed his mother." Phoenix smiled. "He grew a bond to the kid."

That brought a thought to Apollo, "Speaking of which, where is Mr. Edgeworth?"

Trucy finally spoke, a giddy shout to her voice, "Oh, Smiley? He's already at the crime scene!"

"Well, now," Phoenix smiled, this apparently being the first he, too, had heard of such news, fitting his attorney's badge upon his lapel proudly. "How's about we make this a little more fun?" He turned a daring eye to the younger attorney. "Let's see who can get a 'Not Guilty' verdict first, huh? Me, Maya and Pearls versus my two little kiddies. We'll do a progress-check at one o'clock; try to learn your prosecutor by then. Let's see which of us gets to see Miles, huh?" Apollo gulped. If it was true that Miles Edgeworth was the relaxed man seen the night before, things could be easy. But if his reputation spoke the truth, the crimson-clad attorney would be in for hell. "Oh, don't relax yourself too much on my babe, alright? He's a force to be reckoned with. He may be a sweet guy at home, but that's because he has a family to be sweet to. In the field, he's definitely someone to keep wary of."

"W-Wait! Why do you get two assistants and I just get one?!" Apollo protested.

Phoenix chuckled, "Who said you have one? What happened to Mr. Hat?" He teased, greatly irritating Apollo.

He grumbled. "Let's just get changed, Trucy, and let's get on with it."

* * *

The scene of the crime happened to be none other than the Albertson Manor. The scene of the murder, in particular, happened to be their living room, a large stain of blood attesting to this. Apollo had thought about going to check on Mr. Albertson, Alex, but he felt a quick look of the crime would yield a better understanding of the situation. "So… he was knifed in his living room? How… crude…" Apollo jotted down the situation of the murder through the murder weapon, a large bowie knife.

From behind them, a gruff, stoic voice rang out, freezing the attorney dead in his tracks from fear. "Hey, pal, there's no kid's playground in a big ol' crime scene like this one. If you think you can plunder this place just 'cause no one occupies here, you got another thing coming." Apollo dared to turn an eye to the intimidating voice, finding an impressive detective looming over him, a battered, torn and stained green trench coat hanging loosely over him by his shoulders, a tan dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hidden under the drapery of the coat, a red tie hung from his neck, tucked up neatly. His black dress pants covered over black military boots, similar to Klavier's, yet these boots were somehow much more daunting on the man. A pencil rested upon his left ear, a bandage patched up on his chin. "So I suggest you scram, pal, before I arrest you on the spot." He spoke that word, 'pal,' rather coldly.

"Um, mister?" Trucy's voice was now meek from the same intimidation. "We're not trying to steal anything."

For whatever reason, and Apollo would not protest, the stern detective's voice lightened somehow, a smug, yet goofy chuckle creeping onto his face. "Well, 'a course not, sweetheart. Now, miss, what's you two's business here? 'Cause I'm afraid I can't let you in this place; it's a crime scene, after all."

"I know that," The crimson-clad attorney allowed Trucy to speak. _He likes Trucy more than me; I'd better let her do the work._ "But we're the defendant's attorneys. We kinda need to investigate."

"Yeah! Notice the _badge on the lapel_!" Apollo's outburst was due to his rage towards the man, for being so belittlingly oblivious to the attorney. "I _am_ a defense attorney, after all."

"Yeah?" The detective crossed his arms challengingly. "What of it? You got a request form? Who are you two munchkins, anyway?"

"I'm Apollo Justice, Ace Attorney!" He attempted to shout, yet his Chords of Steel failed him, cracking his voice.

Trucy's response was less challenging, but more meek, "I'm Trucy. Trucy Wright. I'm a magician."

" 'Wright?' You're Miles's stepdaughter?" _That is _not_ the response I would have come up with… I probably would have freaked out like the rest, by the fact that Phoenix has a frikken kid. And where did Mr. Edgeworth even come into this picture?_

"Yup!" Trucy smiled, unaware of the strange connection.

"W-Well then, pals," The detective moved aside, allowing passage. "You guys can go on through."

"Thanks mister… um…"

"Gumshoe. Richard Sullivan Gumshoe. I go by 'Dick,' or just 'Gumshoe' though. Remember that, pal." Judging by the coldness, the 'pal' referred to Justice. "Now I can answer a few of your questions, but I'm investigating with the prosecutor right now, so I might not be all that readily available."

"The prosecutor's here?" Apollo nearly shouted all too excitedly.

"Yeah, but I doubt he'll tell you anything. You can go talk to him if you want. He's upstairs, investigating there."

_Klavier…? Maybe you got on the government-affiliated case, too…?_ "What exactly is he doing there, Detective Gumshoe?" Apollo asked distantly.

"It was the only other place in the house that we found blood. You'll know you're there when you get there, alright pal?" Gumshoe practically warned the greenhorn. "I've gotta stay here and hold the fort."

Apollo made his way upstairs, Trucy following close behind, to find the area near the master bathroom littered in forensic scientists. There, among all of the men in pale blue, was a single prosecutor dressed in wine red, a ruffled tie hanging about his neck, conversing with one of the scientists. "Mister… Mr. Edgeworth…?"

The ebony-locked prosecutor turned an eye to the crimson-clad attorney. "Ah, Apollo, was it? A pleasure meeting you here."

Trucy burst out from the stairwell, throwing her arms around the cherry wine prosecutor. "Yay! Miles is our prosecutor!"

_No… Miles is our prosecutor…_ "Thank you, Trucy, but I'm afraid that we'll have to be professional now; it is a crime, after all, and the victim's death marked the fall of a very powerful man." Mr. Edgeworth finally sighed. "I'm not taking this case because it is my belief that the defendant is guilty; I do not, but I took this case because I am the only one who believes that. Others are so determined to bring Alex down, just for the fame, that they would go to any number of lengths to find him guilty. The main reason I took this case is to find the truth as to who would frame that boy for something of this magnitude, and I must not relent until the whole truth behind this murder is discovered. That boy is innocent! I know it…"

"What makes you so sure?" Apollo asked trivially.

"All you would simply need to do is take a glance at the boy—even a single, fleeting glance—to realize that that young man is innocent! The sheer torment written on his face… he could never do such a thing… never."

The response was very similar to Phoenix's statement of Alex (to which Apollo could surmise that Phoenix took that passion that his husband felt and dumbed it down for the attorney), and Apollo felt that he could press this matter no further. He decided, instead, to ask of a more trifling matter, "So, what's with the creepy detective?"

Mr. Edgeworth chuckled lightly. "Oh, you mean Dick? He's my investigative partner, and has been for fourteen years. Why do you look so nervous?"

"M-Me? Nervous? Why would you say that?!" Apollo's hasty and cracking voice, obviously, confirmed this.

"No reason in particular. Anyhow," The cherry wine prosecutor gave a hitch of his coat. "Now, Dick—excuse me, I must be professional here—_Detective Gumshoe_ may seem like the sort of man that, well, would cut you down in an instant—which he would, should you impede on his work in his field—but he's truly a… erm… a 'big teddy bear' on the inside. Just get him to talk about children. He always wanted to raise a daycare, after all. And I'm sure, with Trucy, he seemed like a much different man?"

_Well, yeah… he wanted to rend my face off, but then acted like such a sweet guy to Trucy… _"Yeah, I did notice that…"

"And that is because Detective Gumshoe… has had experience around those that are older. Meaning to say, he doesn't trust anyone over the age of twenty; he always suspects those that are older. Children, however, he has trusted since the beginning of his career, feeling their innocence as a major factor towards his trust."

"So, why are you two taking _this_ case? Since, y'know… Phoenix's taking another case currently." It was still extremely awkward for Apollo to think of such a possibility, despite himself.

"Well, you could say I was rather disappointed. You could also say I was quite relieved. You see, we're married now, and yet a prosecutor and defense attorney are forever rivals in the war that is the courtroom, Apollo Justice. Imagine two who have tied the knot suddenly having to face off in court? We… We would be far less professional than expected, which is why the fact that you've chosen Trucy as your assistant upsets me a bit; you, dear, might smear my professionalism. And it not only disappointed myself, it also disappointed Detective Gumshoe as well; he also wanted to investigate for that case, but alas, he, being my designated investigative partner, was called to this scene rather than the one that Phoenix occupies. He has been my investigative partner, a new sort of term, for the past seven years—an investigative partner being an investigator designated to a certain prosecutor, instead of being a rather case-by-case basis, as the number of investigators was, and still is, at an all-time low. Realistically, he has been an unofficial of the sort for nearly fourteen years, Detective Gumshoe, having a spot in my heart with all of his persistence. You see, he, when I was a rookie, myself, was a nobody detective that meant nearly nothing to me, but his determination and… _charm_ soon made its way deep inside of me. Now that I've matured from a selfish, spoiled child in the courtroom, Dick and I have become very good friends—and with my friendship comes Phoenix's, of course. In fact, Phoenix worked with him in nearly all, if not all, of his investigations."

There was a certain phrase that caught the attorney's ear. "You said you were a 'selfish, spoiled child in the courtroom?' Why? You always seemed so professional…"

Miles chuckled lightly at this, shooing away a forensic scientist harshly for interrupting their conversation. "Anything that you've found can wait, can't it? Or has the world sped up and we're now finding ourselves lost for time?!" He turned crisply to the crimson-clad attorney, now nervous at the stern seriousness in Mr. Edgeworth's transformation. He sighed, "I once walked the path of a corrupt prosecutor, my only goal being to hear a guilty verdict be passed, no matter what the cost. But Phoenix… he saved me. He pulled the wool from my eyes and I was finally able to see the sheer magnitude of my errors. And who was the man to comfort me in such a time of sheer and crippling confusion?—Mind you, the corrupt prosecutor I speak of happened to be my adoptive father. It was only Richard Sullivan Gumshoe who took me in his arms the one time I fell to tears over that ordeal." Apollo felt a lump form in his throat. This story… being betrayed by family and left lost and confused… it sounded far too familiar, yet the horned attorney could not draw his lips to make the connection. "He was the only man that helped my heart decide that it loved Phoenix, when I was confused about my sexuality. But then again, at that time, Dick was a much different man. Where I have gained a lighthearted personality over the years, one that you see at home, he has created a professional personality to use on the field." A sly grin appeared on the prosecutor's face. "So, Apollo, I have a little challenge for you: I want you to talk to Dick for me. He is a good man; he won't bite. Just get him to talk about his personal life. It's such a lovely thing, his life, that he won't have any more qualms with you. Just get him talking. The same man that annoyed his way through me is still in there. You just have to get past this… this cloak of authority that he wears."

Apollo gulped. _It'd be nice for him not to look like he was gonna rend my face off… kinda… _"O…Okay…"

"Good boy. Now," Mr. Edgeworth turned to the forensic scientist he'd shooed away. "You! What updates have you for me?"

Apollo shuffled down the stairs. _Well, I needed to get a good look at the scene of the murder, anyway, so maybe there is a good side to this…_ Trucy close behind, shocking the attorney with her speech. "You scared, Polly?"

"Of-Of course not!" The man's voice cracked again. "Why would I be nervous?"

" 'Cause Mr. Gumshoe seems like kinda a meanie." She bounced lightly. "But Smiley said that all you have to do is talk about his family. So do just that."

The forest-green detective was resting on the couch, jotting something in his Organizer, muttering the notes as he wrote them. "Um… Detective Gumshoe…?"

"Hey, kids, what's up?" The detective greeted with that same goofy smile plastered on his face when Trucy had introduced herself. "Feels pretty good to get a break. 'Course, Miles would never wanna go ahead and overwork me." He tucked the pencil he was using behind his ear, and used his Organizer as a pillow against the couch. "So, what can I do ya for?"

"Um… I wanted to, um, talk to you about… well, you." Apollo, despite the trying defendants he has seen, found Detective Gumshoe's 'strange' to be in a league of its own.

He produced a hearty chuckle, smaller chuckles escaping as he spoke, "Me? Well, pals, I dunno. I _am_ working after all. But what the heck?" He gave a quick scratch to the back of his neck. "Well, you probably know the stories that Phoenix must've told you, huh? Well, I'm happy to say that that's all outdated as of seven years ago. I used to be the world-champion ramen-eater, working my life off of pennies, but I decided to go out on a limb and marry the girl of my dreams, Maggey Byrde. Then, it was like the powers that be were suddenly like 'Hey, Dick, you're gonna get an awesome life now that you did this awesome thing!'—y'know what they say? 'Good things come to those who wait?'—So, after marrying Maggey, I got promoted to chief detective, and started making a ton more money than I usually got. And then Miles became a very good friend of mine, and I suddenly realized that I wasn't alone anymore; I was an independent, happy-as-can-be detective!" He laughed heartily once more, whilst producing something from his trench coat pocket. "See this here?" Between the detective's fingers was a picture of a small boy, Dick's jacket draped heavily over his shoulders and head. "This is my pride and joy. His name's Mattie. He's three. It's the thought of making the world a better place, little by little, for my boy when he's all grown, that's what keeps me going as a detective." He heaved a light sigh. "But I still miss the good ol' days, if you can believe it, pal; it's when life was easy. It helped me notice the little things, y'know? Like the fact that my favorite food is still cheap ramen; it makes me so proud to see Mattie! It's his favorite food, too! Ah, he get's it from his old man!" He laughed outright again. "But I'm happy I'm well off, for his sake, and it's a good thing now, being able to uncover the truth with Miles."

Apollo chuckled, as he normally does, which was surprising, considering the man before him was intimidating but a few moments ago. "Well, thanks Detective. Now I've gotta go and talk to Mr. Edgeworth again."

"Glad to have ya, pal." Gumshoe smiled warmly. "I'll be seeing you."

The connection between this prosecutor and another begged a question to the attorney. He had to find Mr. Edgeworth and know… "Um… I wanna know if you know about Mr. Wright's case. Y'know… the basics, the prosecutor… I figured you'd know, being his… husband."

Miles chuckled lightly once more. It was a pleasant sound, compared to his sharp nature. "It's a difficult pill to swallow, is it not, Apollo? I sense a sort of retraction from the fact of our marriage." Apollo flushed slightly. _God, I must look like a complete and inconsiderate ass. There's nothing wrong with them…! It's just so… so weird._ "But I suppose it can't be helped. Nearly all expected Phoenix to marry Maya Fey, or Iris Hawthorne or another. Truly, if he had dated a woman once before, he would marry to a woman, no? The endless 'search' for Trucy's mother was as if Phoenix was searching for a woman to marry, not Trucy's true mother, Thalassa. I know it is difficult, and it is simply because you were confused by the fact that his life made it seem so likely for him to find a woman. Not to worry, young Apollo, you will understand one day the reason for his choosing of me. You'll understand that, beneath all of those trivial, uncontrollable things, like gender and race and religion, hair color, eye color, build… has nothing to do with what is on the inside; because if you strip down a man or woman of these attributes, what you are left with is a single thing: the soul, and it is that soul that determines who you are." Apollo was unsure of what to say. _A man's soul…? Maybe yesterday, in Klavier's house, the reason I couldn't say his name was—_ "However, I digress. I do, yes, know of Phoenix's case, even more so than he. I know that the victim was a Miss Destiny Feights, the nineteen-year-old ex-girlfriend of the blind defendant, Adrian Bellinger, seventeen years of age. The murder was at an afterschool activity for chorus. Three were supposed to watch the room, but as one was absent, only those two were in the room at the time. The murder weapon was a gun, apparently brought by the defendant, though the tests confirming that are still underway. The prosecutor is, ironically, Klavier Gavin, the same man that took Phoenix's defense attorney's badge in the first place."

Apollo gasped softly. He wished not for further harm to come to that man, and what would be of him if he were to encounter the spiky-haired attorney once more? Although he seemed as though he had moved past the ordeal, what if Phoenix's presence made him withdraw, as Apollo was a witness of?_ What if…? _The crimson-clad attorney heaved a great sigh. He worried for that man far too often. _Klavier is a strong, independent man. The little things like Mr. Wright are far too distant to bring back the trauma of Kristoph. Right…?_

* * *

_11:24 AM_

"Ah, Nick! Take a deep breath through the nose! Can't you just _smell_ a good crime scene in the morning?" Maya heaved a great sigh, drinking in the scent of blood.

"Mr. Nick, did she really die in her school?" Pearl asked with a bite of her lip.

"Afraid so, Pearls. Someone shot her afterschool, and now they're framing Adrian for it." Phoenix shook his head. "Poor guy. But I have to say, he's so mature and that makes my life _way_ easier." He turned to his friend with a quick snicker. "And if mature people make my life easier…?"

"Then we're a big-ass pain in the neck, Nick! I know that and I'm proud!" Maya rested her knuckles on her hips triumphantly.

Phoenix chuckled once more. _Maya's right, though. It feels so… so unchanged being around the scent of blood… being in the room where a life was taken… it feels so normal. _From behind him, a squeak was produced. "Mister… Mr. Nick! Who is that man…?" Pearl's finger wavered over to the back of a certain platinum blonde rock-star. "He's so… so beautiful! Just a notch under Mr. Justice!"

The raven-haired channeler attempted to relax her cousin "Oh, Pearly, what'm I gonna do with y…you…? Oh, God, Nick, who _is_ that guy?" Maya suddenly asked dreamily.

"Prosecutor Gavin…? That you?" The cobalt-clad attorney asked in a bit of shock. The surviving Gavin was noticeably pale, as if the tan had been emptied right off his flesh. And it wasn't a natural pale either—it wasn't a very pretty color—it was as if the life itself had been drained from his body and soul.

He turned an eye to the attorney, the bright ceruleans now paled and lacking their usual lighthearted glint, purple rings beginning to form under them. "Guten tag, Herr Wright. Excuse my appearance; I failed to sleep the past few nights." He held his arms tight and flat against his chest, in a similar manner to his late brother's, a bothered, distraught look sketched across the canvas of his colorless face. "Who would have guessed that the prosecutor that took your badge would face off against you you're first time back, ja?" His voice, too, lacked the usual lighthearted cheer. Across the room, investigating, was an old friend of Phoenix's: Ema Skye. Although the attorney would have liked the opportunity to jump into a conversation with her, the same reason he did not was the same reason he did not further his conversation with Klavier: she, too, seemed distraught. She had a constant eye on her investigative partner, as if concern forced her to micromanage him. She, too, seemed bothered by something. "I suppose I have to get to work now, ja? We will chat later."

During the course of Klavier's speech, Phoenix could hear the two girls gabbing away at the man's attractiveness, Maya claiming he is far more beautiful than Apollo, yet Pearl still claiming the crimson-clad attorney more attractive. _Women… can't they tell when there's a sense of uncomfortable gravity lingering in the air? Are they really that inconsiderate? _Phoenix sighed, a slight shake of the head. And as the man turned to leave, there seemed to be some sort of haze… a very light, almost nonexistent, yet shading black mist shrouding behind Klavier's back, measuring slightly above his head, gazing first at the cobalt-clad attorney with utter contempt, then back upon the surviving Gavin expectantly, hungrily. The haze was connected to the man from his spine, and yet the blonde did not seem to realize its existence. Then again, its existence might not have even been real; Phoenix figured, for the sake of his and Klavier's wellbeing, to leave the creature be, yet that itself begged the question, "Um, Prosecutor Gavin?"

The paled prosecutor turned a dead eye to the attorney. "Ja? But please, make it quick; I have an investigation to run, after all."

Phoenix heaved a great sigh, unsure and frightened of where the next question would lead him. Nevertheless, he felt it a necessity, also for he and Klavier's wellbeing, to ask. "Klavier, I don't need to be an expert to know that you're upset over something. Something important. And for your sake, I'd really like to know what that is." The attorney explained gingerly.

Klavier chuckled lightly, weakly. "With all of the things that have been happening in my life, and atop all of what has happened to me recently, never is anything normal. To try to live a civil life is asking all too much of me, ja? My life has just been twists and turns that I've never wanted to encounter." He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, his eyes now growing its usual color back, yet the personality written on it was that of desperation, pleading. In that moment, Phoenix's Magatama glowed ardently, the noises, people, and background surrounding the two snapping into black as the sound of a boulder crashing, or perhaps a low thunderclap, could be heard. Over Klavier's body, chains began to snare in front of him, five red locks clasping at the intersections of these chains, gating the door to the secrets hidden deep within his heart. "It is never simple."

* * *

**A/N: **HA! HA-HA-HA! That 'ha!' moment when you use the title in your story… ^^' Yeah, there's OC characters; wanna fight about it? Sorry, as for Miss Destiny Feights, she came off the dome. The other three, though, they were created long before, and I lurv them (especially Adrian)!

So, with the additions of Ema, Maya, Pearls and Gumshoe, what do you think? I. Died. Now all I need is Mike Meekins and my life will be complete… ^^ I keep saying 'poor Klavi,' but then I realize I'm the sad, sad reason he suffers… :/ Oh well. So, looks like his son-of-a-bitch brother really _did_ try to do him in, and that dark shadow reappeared. So, sorry Krissi fans. KRISTOPH IS A SADISTIC BITCH AND WE LOVE HIM FOR IT. Fact. So if you thought he was gonna be all cutesy (for whatever reason) because of the flashbacks, hahaha NO. What's this all going to mean for poor Klavier?

Looks like Miles didn't lose his edge(worth) since his seven years of being with Phoenix. I know he was a little OOC in the last chapter, and that was for good reason. It's to show the difference between his home life and work life. It also doubles as a contrast for Gumshoe's persona. GAH! OLDER GUMSHOE BEING A B.A.M.F. = My salvation! :DDDD (And the addition of Mattie… }:3 my own personal touch (he's, like, my favorite of my OCs ^^))

I cannot believe that this chapter was THIS. DAMNED. LONG. Sorry for that (^^'), or a good for you (^^)! Who knows what kind of dark secrets live within this 'simple' man's life?


	7. Chapter Six: Taking Its Toll

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for this delay! :/ I really didn't mean to, but the idea for this chapter just wasn't coming out, and by the time it did, I was loaded with a crap-ton of homework. This chapter's gonna tie up some loose ends on some locations and unaccounted characters, like my OCs. I know how many people don't like OCs, 'cause they're generally for FictionPress, but I put them in SO THEY'RE GETTING DEVELOPED, DAMNIT. No Edgey and Gummy, though, in this chapter. Sowwy.

Do you guys want me to start aterisking (*) German words that come up (minus things like 'ja' and 'Herr' and 'Fräulein,' 'cause those should be given)? Or are you guys just okay with Google Translating it?

* * *

**Chapter Six: Taking Its Toll**

* * *

_Edgeworth Manor_

_July 25, 2027—1:02PM_

The raven-haired attorney returned to Miles's mansion promptly at one o'clock, just as he had instructed himself. The two Kurain girls were mindlessly chatting away, their argument from the last few hours still left unresolved. "I can't see why you think that Apollo is cuter than that cute prose…cut…or… Nick!" Maya hastily cried out, "What's that guy's name…? The one… that one that looks like a prince? Who is he?"

Phoenix groaned. _Yeah, and while you were gazing at that guy, you didn't notice his condition?_ "Klavier," He admitted after a disappointed sigh. "His name is Klavier. It means 'piano' in German."

Maya sighed dreamily. " 'Klavier…' that name just rolls off the tongue so well! It's so elegant, just like him!" _Jeez, the things people think they know about someone in the few minutes they've interacted with them… _"I still don't understand why you think that Apollo is cuter than Klavier!"

Pearl laughed softly. "It's because Mr. Klavier seems a bit _too_ perfect, don't you think? I think that Apollo's imperfection holds a certain charm that makes him better to me than the prosecutor."

With an exhausted sigh, Phoenix decided to study the moments he shared with Prosecutor Gavin. The man's appearance was certainly something to note: his face and body had paled considerably, dark circles contributing the only color as even his usually-bright ceruleans were now muted. He focused on the prosecutor's voice and posture; the lighthearted cheer in his singing chords had been washed away, and his confident pose had withdrawn considerably. He no longer held himself so openly—as a proud man he would use the entirety of his body to express his feelings, leaning in to emphasize his statement or wave about his hands to remind himself of the scene fleeing his mind. He now held himself with uncertainty—his arms constantly seeking one another as his eyes avoided yours. Even Phoenix, who knew nearly nothing of the platinum blonde prosecutor, could sense the stark change in his mood and behavior.

And what of that moment? When asked what made him so deathly pale, so dull, so withdrawn, his silent answer was the chains worthy of five Psyche Locks. It was a shocking thing, no doubt, and not at all because of the Locks themselves—his stark difference could only mean such a thing; the single thing that rocked the raven-haired attorney to his core was the way Klavier held himself as the locks snaked about him. Withdrawn as his arms sought one another, his pose was startlingly similar to his brother's when the Magatama presented itself to him. All except for the blinding glint behind those sinister glasses, and a use of eye contact. _Klavier… what's happened to you? What is this thing that's killing you that you feel such a desperate need to hide?_

Before his concerned mind could conjure answers, a sort of irritating yipping, accompanied by a quick, inconsistent skittering noise, grew closer. It was Rokushi, Miles's—though Phoenix will not admit—rather annoying pet puppy, yipping and skittering across the foyer hall towards the door, growling protectively. The raven-haired attorney's thoughts could not sustain themselves through the racket, as a quick rattle of the keyhole bade entrance to the Gramarye children: crimson-clad Apollo and cyan-clad Trucy. As Phoenix gathered his thoughts, the two chattered on business-related matters, or rather, Apollo was doing so as Trucy nitpicked on the meaning of each detail like a confused schoolchild. The cobalt-clad attorney seized the opportunity once his mind finally realigned, "Hey, kids," He greeted generically. Immediately, he took his student to a side. "Hey, Apollo, I'm just gonna cut to the chase here," Before the younger of the spiky-haired attorneys could open his mouth to protest, "I need to ask about your friend. I need to ask about Klavier."

Apollo blinked a few times, regaining his composure. "I was talking to Trucy about the case," Was his rather irritated response.

"Look, that can wait, can't it?" Phoenix argued hastily. "Now you can talk about that later, I just need to ask you something about Klavier."

With a quick sigh, Apollo finally groaned, "Fine, what is it? Look," He sighed once more, yet this particular sigh held a sort of gravity. Gravity that had now been expelled, ridden from his ever-grateful body. "Sorry I'm being really touchy; I have a lot of work to do and I'm really, _really_ behind." He apologized sincerely, a light touch to his notes.

_He probably hasn't realized yet…_ As this new realization surfaced, Phoenix decided to deliver his message as gingerly as possible. He did not quite know the established relationship between the two yet, but any sort of information yielded on the recent platinum blonde would startle. "I don't know if you know this, but…" He grunted softly scratching back that certain hair that refused to unify with the rest, dangling out obviously, unable to place his words. "His condition… it's bad." He finally admitted, his eyelids unwilling to open, unwilling to see the response written across Apollo's face. In fact, he needed them not; with ease, he could _feel_ the horror and foreboding sketched across the younger attorney's face. "I know it's only been, what? two days since you've seen him, and in that time he's been perfectly fine, but…" He grunted again, the structure of his sentence falling away, replacing with crippling uncertainty. "Well, first of all, I'm sure you've figured out that Miles is your prosecutor for the case, so if he's that for you… well, Klavier's the prosecutor for my case. The last time I saw him, too, was those two days ago when Miles came back, but when I saw him working the field… he was far too different, and it-it stopped my heart, I'm not gonna lie. It stopped my heart and, for a moment, I felt like the world itself had just… had just stopped. It-It was terrifying; it was as if I was looking at a-a… a ghost—an empty ghost, all alone." He stuttered, spilling the words out just as quickly as his mind could conjure them. "It looked like he hadn't slept in days—hell! He _told_ me he hadn't slept in days!—and his eyes looked like they'd been washed of all their bright color. They weren't cheery anymore. _He_ wasn't cheery anymore. He held himself like… like—sorry to put it so frank—like he'd just been raped! He just looked so… so bent out-of-shape. So different. He was far from himself—far, _far_ from himself. I don't think I've ever met a man that gave off such a negative, distant aura around him. It's like if you were to look into his heart, it'd be a dark, _dark_ and cold place. And he has to weather it. All by himself."

After a long pause of silence shared between the two, Phoenix dared to open his eyes. _Such difficulty to say these words to a man who barely knows the other._ Why? Why would he feel so cautious about this sensitive information? _It's because I know. _Not only was the man there to see the horror that was this new man slowly replacing Klavier Gavin, but also was the man there witness another development between attorney and prosecutor. One he had seen many years ago, firsthand. One, also, that was unbeknownst to even the neophyte attorney, but he dare not justify it. For all Phoenix knows of the word _love_, the single rule that lives strongest in his mind is the many forms of love's unpredictability. He dare not claim that Apollo feels love's spell without his own knowing, as the man refuses such claims profusely. Yet silently in Phoenix's mind sings the signs of such a spell. So, as he opened his eyes to man who could possibly, if not unwittingly, hold the blonde ever dear to his heart, the crimson attorney loosed a shaky sigh, attempting to come to grips with the situation, attempting to visualize such a man in his head and placing the name 'Klavier Gavin' with it, or attempting to push such thoughts away. "Klavier… is hurting?" Was the nearly-inaudible response that inched from his quivering lips. Phoenix could not even find his voice. To suffice, he gave a slow nod of his head. "Then… Then I need to see him."

"That won't be happening anytime soon." Phoenix muttered. "He's knee-deep in all things pertaining to the trial. He's going to be far too busy to talk about how his weekend was over a bag of Snackoos."

"Then dinner," Apollo suggested, or rather asserted, firmly. "Trial tomorrow can't last longer than a few hours, tops; it's not like we'll start at ten and end eight hours later. So we'll invite him to dinner tomorrow." Although his voice was steady as it settled the blueprints for such a task, his mind was distant; visible in his eyes, he was sifting through any idea to bring the necessary aid to his friend, creating ideas… discarding them… attempting to conjure the most effective solution. "Maybe we can talk to him then. Maybe we can finally sort out what's making him like you say he is."

Phoenix finally regained the necessary voice to negotiate the plan further. "Until then, if you're not too busy, you can go see Ema. She was acting funny, too, when I saw her with Klavier. Although it wasn't nearly as bad—she was just acting like she had something to hide—I really think that you should still get a word in with her."

"Anything," Was the response that jumped from Apollo's throat quickly, ridden of any hesitation. That 'really, _really_' behind work could now suddenly be halted. "Anything that can help me get an understanding of what the hell's going on."

* * *

_4:32 PM_

_Skye Household_

Although there was much trial-related matters that needed immediate attention, not a moment passed under the attorney's nose free of worry. There was no moment between the trip that Apollo set his mind to anything otherwise. He didn't even care that his bracelet was on the wrong hand, a particularly touchy peeve of his that was likely a further attribute to his earlier irritation. Only as he was awaiting the auburn-haired detective's arrival at her door upon the sweet chime of the doorbell did he finally readjust such a trifling, yet potent, annoyance.

Apparently, this detective was off of working hours, as she shed her long lab coat and magenta glasses, now wearing a simple blue blouse and jean-shorts. "Hey," She greeted; her usual moodiness, however, had not shed. "Don't you have an investigation to run?"

"Hi, Ema. Well, I'll get back to it. So, since you now realize I'm kinda rushed, I need to ask you a really, really important question." He breathed out hastily.

"Shoot,"

"I need to know what the hell happened to Klavier." His voice was no longer light and heedless. It was now pensive and objective.

Ema's face quickly dissipated its irritability. It, too, grew with the gravity of the matter at hand. "If you're not too terribly rushed, come inside." She motioned. As Apollo had taken a seat on the couch, the forensic detective returned from wherever she had left to, two bottles of nail polish locked away in a plastic evidence bag. She sat down as a heavy sigh ghosted from her nostrils. "Apollo," She said simply, yet the name itself held something of its own: a warning. Such a topic, she knew, could be all too much for the attorney, and as she sat on that word, she was allowing Apollo the option to shy away.

Apollo, though usually not one to do so, read this warning. "I don't really care how serious it is. I can hold myself up, don't worry. All I care about is trying to learn this problem so I can help Klavier."

The detective held onto those words, awed. "He matters that much to you?" The stinging reminiscence, that produced such a question, was the crippled words sobbed out by the subject of the matter at hand himself.

"Of course," Apollo answered firmly. "He's been through enough hell as it is, and he doesn't deserve it. Now he's suffering even more, and I want to know why!"

Another long sigh. "Al-Alright," Her fingers knotted around the evidence bag. "There's a reason I brought this here bag. It has nothing to do with the case that Klavier and I are working on, and I don't dare take these bottles out." She read the question in Apollo's eyes and answered thereafter. "One of these bottles has been corrupted."

Apollo's mind quickly flashed to a picture of the navy-haired forger. "Like—"

"Vera Misham, yes." Ema nodded gravely. "And it's been corrupted by the same poison as Vera's. It was even corrupted around the same time as Vera's was—around the time that Phoenix was disbarred—for the same nervous habit—err… it's a bit modified, as in the nail polish itself was the target for the teeth, but you get the picture."

"And it was… corrupted by the same person?"

"You guessed it." She heaved yet another long sigh, the next subject finally bringing itself to light. "You know who's nail polishes these are?" Apollo shook his head, innocent to the matter. "Kristoph Gavin used this bottle, seven long years ago… to poison his little brother."

It was as if the world had stopped cold for Apollo. His mind immediately snapped to the thoughts that Klavier—younger and innocent, yet still holding the same respect for his 'bro'—could have been, and was, the intended target of an atroquinine-corrupted bottle of nail polish, set to such a deadly caliber by his own older brother. Here, he realized: _If these things are heart-stopping for _me_, how the hell did Klavier deal with this?_ The pieces of the puzzle locked into place; Klavier's sudden upset was from this sudden, sickening fact. "Kristoph…" His initial shock melted away quickly into a burst of sheer rage. His fist met the nearby wall cholericly, making Ema jump. "That bastard… If he wasn't dead already, I'd kill him myself!"

"Apollo!" Ema finally hissed. "Don't say those sorts of things!"

"And why not?! He tried to kill his own little brother, goddamn it! He was going to kill him over a piece of frikken paper! Klavier did _nothing_ wrong! Not a single damned thing! It's because Kristoph was selfish and-and paranoid! To think that I respected that man!"

"But that's not entirely why." Ema murmured, attempting to be the calm, where Apollo failed. Hearing these words, Apollo forced his body to relax, settling himself back onto the couch with a quick apology. "I'm sure his condition is due in large part by, yes, his brother, but it was also due to another critical topic. He said… He said that he felt so lonely."

Apollo was utterly puzzled. "Lonely? But… But Trucy and I are his friends!"

"That's exactly the problem; you two say you're his friends because he was hurting. He thinks that you'll be kind to him only when he's down, and eventually use him when he finally gets better. He called us 'pity-friends,' and he really is distraught over this whole matter." Ema explained gravely. "He thinks that, when we get further into our career, that we'll forget about him and leave him all alone." She shook her head as her voice quieted, "He likes to hide himself behind a veil of happiness. He makes himself appear like everything's alright, when it's absolutely not. After all, I would never have expected this sort of mindset from a guy like him. He's always so confident."

"But inside, he's so broken." Apollo's rage boiled up again, yet he somehow found a way to contain it, "That damned Kristoph! Did he even _know_ how he'd leave Klavier if he ever found out?!"

It was here that the crimson-clad attorney gasped softly, a certain damned piece of paper now suddenly heavier in his pocket. He produced it, seeing now no point in keeping its dark secrets hidden. "What's that?" Ema inquired, then gasped softly. "That isn't, like, a suicide note, is it?!"

"No, no!" Apollo amended, though the horrible thought could not escape his worried mind. He quickly attempted to banish such an image. "It's a diary page. Ironic, isn't it? It's Kristoph's. It… It said the possibility that he'd have to kill Klavier, and here," He gave a quick skim through the message. "It seems like he was really reluctant with this thought, the thought that he might have to kill his brother. I… I just never had the idea at the time that he'd go through with it." There was a long silence as Apollo stared at the diary page, almost unbelieving of the words written on it correlating to the fact he now faced. "I suppose he has a right to know." He said finally. "I think Klavier has a right to know that I took this. I took the page to hide this horrible fact, but I never knew that the threat still lived in his house until today. Thanks for that, Ema." With a heavy heart, Apollo folded back the page and replaced it in his pocket. "He should know that I took it. And… I really wanted to see him today, especially now that this… death threat came to light."

Ema's smile was small. There was no reason to be joyous at a time like this. "I understand. He needs somebody, Apollo." This statement gave a sinking feeling to Apollo. For whatever reason, his mind connected such a statement to the possible blush, excessive drawings, and others. "He needs you to prove to him that you're not just some pity-friend, and that you really do care about him."

* * *

_5:15 PM_

_Gavin Household_

Another ring of the doorbell to the impressive Gavin mansion, except this ring was not to begin the dispelling of rumors, this ring was to aid. It was to cure Klavier of whatever upset had taken over him. His mind decided to take the opportunity to plague him with paranoid thoughts of the reasoning behind the delay. _Klavier is a strong man._ He silently convinced himself. _He would never do these kinds of things. I can understand if he's upset, but he'd never do things like that_. Just before the rational portion of his mind was overcome by its distressed counterpart, the large polished wood door finally opened. "Herr… Herr Forehead?" Was the slightly lighter-toned Klavier. He was virtually unchanged, despite his minute paling and lack of proper clothes. "Sorry for the delay. I swear I shouted 'I'll be there in a minute,' but I was looking for a shirt. I apologize for my… inappropriate appearance." The platinum blonde held himself along the door, a sheepish look upon his face due to his body only holding a black undershirt and gray sweatpants.

Apollo held back his sigh of relief. _Then I'll look like I'm happy he's not wearing a shirt…_ "You're fine," Inwardly, his heart swelled in felicity. Klavier was alright. He just must not have went outside much these past few days. "Can I come in?"

"Ja, ja, of course." He smiled, bidding the attorney welcome. As Apollo stepped inside, he could feel a subtle difference to the house. It was as if something was missing. As he surveyed the room the culprit came to light: mirrors. For whatever reason, all of the mirrors previously present in the room were either draped in cover, or removed completely. The slight thought of a vampire Klavier came to mind, but Apollo dismissed the thought fervently. But, without this thought, no explanation came to mind that made logical sense to chocolate-haired attorney. Klavier disappeared into the kitchen, returning swiftly with a bowl of Snackoos. "So, what brings you here?"

"Um…" Apollo's grip tightened over his pocket. Klavier was no longer upset. There was no need to reemerge that thought of Kristoph's evil ways now that he has moved on. "I just came to see how you were doing. I heard that your the prosecutor in Phoenix's case."

Klavier chuckled. "Ah, irony. You mask your sad song in a veil of upbeat notes. Yes, it is true. And although Herr Wright said nothing of it, I'm sure he was upset. How life works in its many ways. I hope he holds no animosity towards me."

"He said himself that he didn't, the night we had dinner together, remember?" Apollo smiled. "You two are fine. It's just kinda a funny thing. At least no magician died." He chuckled.

Klavier, too, chuckled at this. "At least. Yet in return, the powers that be took the life of one who just barely had a grip on what it means to live. But the case they gave is so stupidly against me." He tsked. "Achtung, anyone with eyes could see the defendant is innocent, and that's because he's among those without!" He quickly amended this, "…Metaphorically speaking; he's blind. And it's because of that that he's innocent! And it isn't like the Machi case; he actually cannot see."

"Go on," Apollo smiled. He was content to let Klavier do as he pleased, so long as he kept being his usual, carefree self.

"I mean, there was writing everywhere. All of it was regarded. If he was able to see, he'd regard it, yes, but he can't. It's ridiculous. That man shouldn't even need to have a trial and waste any poor prosecutor's record! Or get that 'rookie killer' prosecutor, Herr Payne. After all, Herr Wright _is_ a 'rookie.' " He gave a generous look to Apollo, gazing in the attorney's direction. "You need something to drink?"

The covered mirror inviting the hallway to the kitchen was the true captor of the attorney's attention. "No, no. Well… whadda you have?" He asked, a sheepish smile on his face as a light blush overcame him, and his hand sought to brush back his feather hairs.

"Um… I have pretty much anything. Anything but alcohol; I don't drink. For the life of me, I will never drink. Daryan tried to convince me a while back, but I'll never. I see how he ends up after a few bottles of booze, and I never want to be like him." The question at hand returned to mind. "But I have things like lemonade and water, soda, some Juicy Juice—"

"Juicy Juice?" Apollo asked with a laugh. "Isn't that for kids?"

"Hey!" Klavier waved an accusing finger. "Juicy Juice is awesome! I have, like, the _real_ apple juice!" He found himself overcome by laughter, a condition afflicting even Apollo. "So really," He chuckled, holding his side. "Anything you'd like. And I'd hope you don't drink; you don't look like you can hold your liquor."

"Probably can't," Apollo admitted shamelessly. "Anyway, I'll just take some punch, if you have any." With a confirming nod, Klavier, again, disappeared into the kitchen. Apollo took the opportunity to check the covered mirror. The logical thought that presented itself to Apollo was simply that it was broken, and he was covering it until repairs could be made. But before he could, the blonde was returning with the drinks, and the crimson-clad attorney was given no other choice but to return to his seat. He decided, instead, to move the conversation into the particularly unsettling matters. "Klavier," He muttered, drawing the ebony-clad prosecutor's attention upon his seating right beside the attorney, setting the two drinks down on coasters beside one another. "I stole something from your house when I came here two days ago."

Klavier gave a quizzical look, not a hint of anger or betrayal, as Apollo would have suspected. If anything, it looked simply and wholly curious. "Really now? Do tell. Do tell."

Apollo loosed a light sigh, producing the diary page. "I took this from Kristoph's diary. He… He wrote about the fact that he might've had to kill you."

The rocker-prosecutor's smile grew smaller. "Apollo, I hope you realize this isn't news to me."

"I do. I do know that, but I just felt like I had to return this. After all, it's not my property. I just… I just took this, before you knew about it, because I wanted to protect you." He admitted shyly.

"I see," Was the soft response given by the prosecutor. "You think that it's bad to be an orphan, but really, there isn't very much bad about that. You don't have to worry about your heart being broken by the very people who raised you. And even if you don't get the love of a family, you get the love and attention that everyone deserves from your friends. You get a family in them. With you… you gained everything an orphan could ever wish for and more. For me… the exact opposite happened… I lost everything. And I know you three are trying so hard to make that change, but… but it's just difficult for me. I've trusted, and I've been used. It's hard for me to accept others into my heart." He whispered. "Thank you for returning the page to me, but I don't need it; it only shows how little my brother actually cared for me, when he knew he was all I had."

"He actually did seem very reluctant of it. He seemed to be upset." Apollo tried a hand at lightening the burden that Klavier carried. The rocker's appearance was now as it had been when Kristoph was last mentioned; his arms unconsciously wrapped around one another.

"That being said, he still chose a diary page—a life of crime for the life of fame—over me." He turned a defeated eye to the rival attorney. "Apollo… there's a secret I've really been needing to get off my chest. I've just been so alone… and never has anyone tried to get this close to me—the _real_ me—and it frightened me, made afraid to tell. But now that you see… can I tell you something?"

"Anything," Apollo offered, a sense of foreboding perfuming in the air.

"Ach… I don't want to say it loud." He admitted with a shy smirk. "It's… very personal. I don't know… I know no one is here, but I just don't want to say it loud. Can you come a bit closer?" Apollo did just so, leaning in, his sharp chocolates meeting Klavier's soft ceruleans. His smirk grew warm as he took the cheeks of the rival defense attorney, joining their lips together.

For a moment, Apollo did nothing, his mind had not entirely registered the situation he was in, and simply went with the instinct to flutter his eyelids closed. However, after the moment passed and the mind met with the situation, his chocolate eyes snapped open, horrified, and he threw himself away from the blonde, removing himself from the chair. "What the—?! Klavi… Klavier!? What the hell did you _do_?!" He screamed, his Chords of Steel armed. Klavier bit his lip back, his arms immediately meeting one another, his own chords producing nothing but regretful whimpers. "You—?! Did you think I'd like that?! You honestly thought that I'd _like_ something like that?!" Apparently, Apollo's mind had not fully reached his mouth. His angered words spilled from him before his considerate mind could register the hurt, contrite feelings sketched across Klavier's face.

"Ent-Entschuldigung…" He whispered meekly.

"You just don't-don't do stuff like that! You just don't! What the _hell_ were you thinking?!"

"I was just so lonely…" Klavier admitted weakly, yet not a single tear dared to appear in his eyes. His expression was empty, yet you could see the man shattering just behind his corneas. "You… were the only one that bothered to find _me_. I thought—"

"Yeah?! Well you thought _wrong._" Apollo hissed spitefully, marching off and slamming the door behind him. Outside, the crimson-clad attorney braced against the door, slumping to the ground. His mind finally connected his thoughts, and immediately he felt bitter inside. His hands rubbed over his face, as if to scrub himself clean of the dirty feeling he was now overcome by. _Klavier… you didn't do anything wrong; you didn't know. I… I shouldn't have yelled. I could have done it any other way… I could have said anything, 'I don't roll like that,' or whatever, but I chose to yell at you. _He heaved a heavy sigh. An apology was necessary, especially so if such a thing was necessary for returning an accursed page.

He rose, ready to ring the doorbell again, when he heard the broken sobs just behind. "This is exactly the thing you deserve, Klavier! You told yourself time and again that if you let someone see your pitiful heart, that they'd break it again, but you wouldn't listen, would you?! You _had_ to convince yourself that you could tell someone and that the reason they did that was because they _loved_ you. Ha! What a joke! That's exactly what happened the first time, and this is the same result: a broken-verdammt-heart, and who do you have to blame but yourself?" He cried… at _himself_, overcome by tears.

Apollo, disturbed by Klavier's meltdown, felt ever the hastened need to apologize, ringing the doorbell. Behind the door, Apollo could hear a sharp sigh, and immediately, the man hushed. There was a long moment of pause before the door finally opened, not as wide as it had when the younger attorney first arrived. "You still want to yell at me?" His slightly-puffed, reddened eyes averted the attorney's, defeat and a hint of fear leading his voice. "Look, I-I'm sorry for what—"

"No, Klavier, _I'm_ sorry." Apollo interrupted hastily, yet his words were well-paced and sincere, a single thought—or rather, phrase—ringing in his mind: _He likes to hide himself behind a veil of happiness. He makes himself appear like everything's alright, when it's absolutely not. _Klavier had tried to cover up his tears after they had been shed so despairingly. Although it wasn't a veil of happiness, it was a veil of acceptance. The prosecution believes he can make himself appear as though Apollo's stinging words did not affect him with a wipe of his condemning tears, as he believed the attorney had not heard, but he could not hide his true upset. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I could have done anything else to deal with the matter, but—"

"Nein, nein, Apollo. I should never have assumed that you liked me to begin with. It was stupid of me to think… to think that just because you cared meant you loved me. I… I never meant to insult your sexuality. My mind decided to play tricks on me, _again_, and decided to make me think that you… that you wanted me in your life."

The younger attorney sighed. "Klavier, I'm not gonna lie, I _am_ straight, but that doesn't mean that I hate you."

"Yeah? Well maybe you don't need to hate me to hurt me…" His meek whisper now held a sort of edge to it. There was hatred there, though its target was not the attorney.

Keeping this worry within himself, he decided to attempt to relax the situation. "Well, if you're not too upset, we're having dinner again tomorrow if you'd like to join us."

"I'll think about it," Was the response that broke the setting silence between them. "Considering it's only when I suffer the most that people take notice; I might as well milk it up while I still can…" He nearly sneered. Apollo felt the need to press this matter, but before he could, "Now, I need to go meet with someone, and I'm sure you have yet to meet your client, ja? So, how about we go our separate ways and start new conversations." The words spilled out hastily, if not irritably, as he rose, turning to leave to upstairs. "Viel Glück, Apollo." He escaped behind the stairwell thereafter, leaving Apollo no choice but to exit himself.

* * *

_5:49PM_

_Detention Center_

The crimson-clad attorney took the moment to seat himself, a Plexiglas barrier between he and freedom, and the contained world of the detention center cell, the door to a prison cell undeserving of many guarded by an armed police officer as another held the arm of a recent prison detainee that happened to also hold the title of Apollo's client, and was seated. The guard left as the other secured the room once more. His rust red locks draped neatly over his face. His head hung lowly, his skateboarder-style haircut rendering his face unreadable. His body was turned slightly away from the attorney. He was dressed in a red shirt and gray jacket, a black necklace with a single imitated shark tooth hanging along his neck. He spoke nothing. "Um… you… you're…?" Apollo, never a man to be good around others, especially taking into account the heavy aura surrounding the boy, spoke cautiously.

There was an uncomfortably long pause between the two before he turned his head up slightly, revealing a bright, sky blue eye behind his red locks. It was startling how similar it was to Klavier's when he was in his usual jovial mood. The visible eye was cautious and terrified. "Alex," He stated blankly, as he held his hand up to the barrier, fidgeting it.

"Alex," Apollo repeated, rather ignoring the motions. _God, he reminds me of Vera Misham, except in a more traumatized, less unaware state. It's less… less obvious how afraid he really is. He's just so… empty._ "You chose me to be your attorney, so here I am. Sorry I wasn't here earlier; I was investigating." He brushed back his antennas nervously.

"I don't know… why I hired you." He murmured, waving around his hands again, his eye suddenly widening in fear and surprise. "I-I didn't mean that I didn't think you could defend me!" He suddenly shouted, turning away sharply, "I just… shouldn't have hired anyone." His voice became pleading as an eye dared to look at his attorney. "Y-You're a good attorney… You're a good attorney…" He repeated cautiously. His head, again, snapped away from the startled attorney. "I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry…" After a long while of not having used his hands like the stereotypical Italian, the apology used them once again.

"Um… Alex, it's okay. I'm going to help you and I'm going to get you acquitted." Apollo reassured. _With this kind of submissive attitude, I doubt he'd ever even think about killing his father._ "So, how have you been?"

"You were going to come earlier..." His voice blanked again, although it still held a hint of fear. "You didn't. They brought me here and I waited for you." The crimson-clad attorney scratched his spikes back nervously, attempting a quick apology. "Then that man came—the man in blue. I thought he had been fired."

The hand motions had now become a full irritability for the attorney, and he disregarded the question for a moment, "Um, Alex, before I answer, why do you think this is a game of charades?"

He flinched at the response. "Sorry?"

"A game. Of. Charades." Apollo reiterated. "You're waving you hands around like its some sort of game. This wall isn't soundproof; I can hear you fine."

"I know," He waved his arms around once more. "But I can't."

Apollo froze. "I-I'm sorry?"

"I… I can't hear very well." The redhead turned away, rather ashamed. "I got in an accident when I was younger… and the sound was so loud… so loud. I… stopped hearing things loudly after that; now everything's a whisper, distorted. I need to wear these to hear better." He combed back a mahogany lock to reveal a device nestled in his ear. "It helps,"

"So… that was sign language?" Apollo realized, now feeling sour inside for feeling annoyed by his movements.

"Yeah…" Alex admitted weakly. "I sign so that others can know I can't hear, and so if they know sign language too, they can help talk to me. It's kinda like how blind people wear black-glasses even though there's no point in them."

"So, um," Apollo was baffled. He seemed to understand the chocolate-haired attorney so well up to this point, although he had not raised a hand. "How can you… 'hear' me?"

"I learned how people move their lips when they speak."

"Ah…" _Great. Another 'normal' client. Let's just hope that sound had to do with the real killer's MO, so that I don't have to go through the painstaking effort… And let's hope he really _is_ deaf, instead of pulling my leg… _"Thanks for letting me know. As for you initial question, Phoenix Wright, the guy I'd assume is the man in blue, got his job back, and is now meeting his client, I guess. And that's 'Wright' with a 'w' in front of the 'right.' " _Deaf people wouldn't know that. Hell, regular people wouldn't know that if he hadn't written it down!_

"I see," Alex answered distantly. "And may I ask who his client is, if you know?"

Apollo felt no objection to the question. _The accused can know others accused, right?_ "Um, yeah, I guess." He pressed his index to his forehead to stir his memory on the spiky-haired attorney's client. "Um… his name is… is… Adrian, I think." He squeezed his eyes closed. Something about that client was particular. "Adrian Beglinner, I think."

"Beglinner…" Alex repeated, signing out the individual letters to himself. "Beg… linner… Is it, perhaps, 'Bellinger?' " He asked, a hint of fear embedded in his voice.

"Y-Yeah… I think it is. Yeah, that was it." Apollo thought nothing of it; Adrian was seventeen, Alex, sixteen. Perhaps they attended the same high school. "He's blind."

"Adrian was arrested…?" He asked nervously, as if to himself in disbelief. "They… That's impossible!" He cried suddenly. "Adrian would never hurt anyone! Never a soul! He's a pacifist!" The rust-haired detainee began to sob. "They can't…! It's not… It's not… He'd never hurt anyone…!"

"A-Alex…?" Apollo jumped, attempting to calm the boy. "Who is Adrian to you?"

"Adrian…" His voice managed a strangled gasp, as if the statement itself had vacuumed the life from his body. "He's… he's… my boyfriend…!"

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

_Central Prison_

_Solitary Cell 5_

For the first time in a while, Klavier moved about with a defined purpose through the solitary cell halls, finally to meet at the cell marked '5.' There, with his hair tied in a high ponytail—no longer God's most atrocious pompadour—strings of white tinges streaking through, stood a former band-mate. "Daryan," The blonde greeted generically, the word slipping out as rather a chore than a joyous occasion.

The former-rocker turned from his bed, a sinister smirk twitching onto his face. "Pianissimo, long time no see." His words spilled out as rather a taunt than greeting. "I'd seen all my band-mates, except you; I was beginning to worry that you'd forgotten about me." He pouted playfully.

"I won't have these games, Daryan." Klavier approached the cell, nearing himself as close as one could without physical contact.

"So how's life been without me and your precious big bro you went on hours about praising?" Daryan returned the glare at the younger band-mate. "You missed me?"

Klavier turned away. "No…"

"Don't lie; it's way too easy to tell." A light gasp escaped the violet-clad prosecutor as the fair, detained hand laced with his pale one. He retracted immediately as the rhythm guitarist began to laugh. "What? Still mad?"

"I can never forgive someone who's murdered." Klavier's arms met one another, his ceruleans failing to meet with the navies.

Daryan laughed outright, a finger pointed accusingly at the blonde. "Ha! What a laugh! You're dead because of us, man! Look at you; you're all pale! Looks like you haven't seen the light of day in your life!" He taunted. "And it's all 'cause of us! You really _did_ need us, didn't ya, Pianissimo?"

"Shut up, Daryan—"

"Because you don't got us, you're left like a stray-frikken-puppy under a bridge with his tail between his legs, all bony and shit! Ha! You _needed_ us! Admit it! You've got no one without us!" He continued to censure, seating himself down on his cell bed.

"I've been perfectly fine! What do you know?!" Klavier cried, a heavy blush painting his pale face.

"I know enough! I've been alive twenty-four long years, I'd think I'd know my people skills. Know 'em enough to know you don't normally look like a washed-up Dracula." The younger rocker growled, but had no time to open his mouth to rebut as the ebony-locked man continued, "Looks like it didn't work out, huh?"

"What didn't?" Klavier dared to ask, a hiss sharpening the edges of his voice.

"You and that, as you say, 'Fräulein Detective.' You totally blew the date, didn't you?" The utter confusion in Klavier's eyes told a different tale as his blush faded. One that Daryan and his profound 'people skills' could decode. "Ah, my bad. Looks like it wasn't the girl. But rather…" He gave a long gaze to the younger male. "Looks like it didn't work out with you and that Spike kid, huh?" Klavier recoiled, his face heating up in a flush. Daryan tsked, a smirk about his face. "You didn't guess he was straight? Seriously? He just reeked of hetero, Klavi."

"How did you—?! You…! How did you know that?!"

"Eh, it's a thing." Daryan grinned. "Nothing like that good-for-nothing attorney can do, but I can see a couple things. If it wasn't that babe Ema, it had to be the guy." He observed the younger as he twitched slightly. "Is it even because you like him? Or is it that you're that desperate to have someone love you? Like how big bro Krissi was?" His ridicule continued, "It's really sad how much faith you put into that guy. Even when he magically knew about something he shouldn't, you let that pass over your shoulder until it got thrown right back into your face. _That's_ when you decided to deal with it again. Hell, maybe if you realized it sooner—who knows? Maybe you knew all along, but you just diluted yourself into believing he was a good guy, 'cause you loved him so much—and got the balls to tell someone, maybe he'd still be alive, instead of dead for the murders of two people, and the attempted murder of two, technically one, with the same poison on the same kind of thing."

Klavier gasped, refusing for the burning tears to fill his eyes. However, such tears caught in his throat, distorting his voice slightly, "How the hell do you know these things?!"

"I knew all along," Daryan admitted, a devilish smile creeping onto his face. "At first, I was worried that that first bottle you used for the first concert was the one, so that's why I bothered to ask, but I didn't want to tell you because I knew how much you loved him. But afterwards, I decided not to tell you anyway, since you didn't use it anymore, and I'd hoped you'd throw it away. Never knew that it was a legitimate threat to you up 'til a few days ago." He tsked again. "Shows how much _he_ cared."

"Shows how much _you_ cared!" Klavier cried. "You're one to talk, throwing Kristoph down there, as if you're not on the same level as him!"

"Yeah, but I only killed one person out of necessity, so I only got a life sentence." Daryan amended shamelessly.

"That is _not_ the point! And it was never necessary!" The blonde could no longer hold back the swell of emotions as his mind now connected itself to his mouth by only thin strands of logic and reasoning. "You always had the option, Daryan! You _always_ had the option not to smuggle the damned thing in the first place! You always had the option to think about _me_ before you condemned yourself like that! You always… You always could have thought of how _I_ would have felt by the fact that you were incriminating yourself! And there I was, blissfully unaware of the two that I cared about the most throwing away their lives, and mine, because of needless things! They disregarded me for the stupidest things! My own brother, I could imagine not thinking about me, if only slightly, but _you_—my own boyfriend—putting me behind a verdammt cocoon!" He sobbed, "How did you think _I_ felt after finding out my boyfriend shattered the heart I so delicately gave him over cash?! How did you think I felt when I found out he decided to dispose of that thing by putting _my_ life in danger?"

"How do you think I felt of you after you decided to reconnect with me after what I'd done the first time?" Daryan grinned slyly. "Surely you didn't think that I'd be Mother Teresa after _that_."

"I thought you'd changed! I thought you'd finally changed!"

"Well it was stupid of you to think that." The older sneered. "Your own damned fault that you gave me your still-beating heart _again_ after I'd nearly destroyed it last time. And on top of that, you don't have your brother now to cry to. Doubt you even cried to him the first or second time."

"Yeah?" Klavier decided to fight fire with fire and retaliate. "At least I'm not caged in here like this. I can leave the room to anywhere I want, because I did good things with my life, and because I never used people. I can walk out this door and take the next train to freedom, if I wanted to."

There was a long moment of pause between the two as they glared at one another, and finally thereafter, Daryan threw his head back in mocking laugh. "Yeah, but that train's never gonna come, Pianissimo! You know why? You're such a desperate mess because of your own insecurities. You don't wanna show your real self to others, fine, but that's gonna be your cage, and you're always gonna be stuck in there, because the moment you take a step out of it, someone scares you back in; be it me, be it your brother, be it Sleeves, you try to show off your 'delicate' heart, and we throw it against the ground, and mash it up real nice, and make you pick up the pieces. Admit it, Klavier, you _like_ being caged. It's the only life you'll ever know." The younger's glare wavered; he was unable to rebut. As he did so, Daryan collected the opportunity, gripping Klavier's shoulders tightly as he collided his lips roughly with his once-lover's. After the younger jerked away desperately, Daryan continued his mental torment. "It's funny that you'd let the twenty-two equivalent of a spoiled brat lead over you."

"Damnit, no!" It was here that the vocalist finally found his chords, struggling against his ex's grip. "_I'd_ lead!" He hissed.

"What a joke," Daryan smirked before pressing his lips back against the guitarist's. He restrained the wriggling hands with his own, backing Klavier into a wall as he leaned in, his thigh beginning to invade between Klavier's separated legs. Initially, the blonde only gasped, unable to find his voice in the midst of the violation. The foreign lips continued to trace around the blonde's smooth, pale skin. "C'mon, Baby Grand, it can be just like old times." The voice urged voluptuously, a light laugh ghosting across Klavier's neckline.

"Don't you ever… use that kitten-name with me again; you don't have the rights you once had…!" The blonde ex-lover protested weakly. It was only after the older released a hand to tug away the younger's belt-chain did he finally find the notes to scream with, and scream he did. It tore through his lips desperately as a guard rushed in quickly, seizing the detainee from Klavier. Immediately afterwards, the violet-clad prosecutor dropped to his knees, curling into a ball, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as he shuddered. A hand sought out cautiously and found his belt as he replaced it around his waist.

* * *

_Earlier that day…_

_3:24PM_

_Detention Center_

It took the attorney a while to realize he would have to speak first before the man could even know he was there. "Um… hi, Adrian."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wright." The ebony-locked teen greeted politely, his eye contact failing to meet Phoenix's. Anyone with eyes could see that he could not; his irises lacked color, being pale blue, almost white, in nature, rendering his pupils a milk white. "It's a shameful thing that this wall prevents me from seeing you." Adrian tsked, or rather, clicked.

"Yeah…" The process of echolocation still rang as a bit suspect to the attorney. _How does that even work? How does that let you 'see?' Just because of the time that it took for the click to bounce back off, you can get a detailed drawing of _me_? _

"You seem like such a brave man, defending those who could possibly have taken the life of another, the possibility of media ridicule never straying far from your living quarters… I've heard so much about you, and your life. You haven't any idea how you've kept your name up in lights through Miles Edgeworth." He chuckled lightly. "But, I digress. I've failed to use my manors. How has your day carried you, Mr. Wright?"

_Jeez, I can only wonder which kind of people raised _this_ kid. _"Eh, hectic, but I'm rather glad; having lived the lazy life after all these years, it's nice to be back on the fast track. My apprentice has a case as well, but he's been busying himself in other matters. I keep complaining that _I'm_ busy, yeesh. This guy's multitasking, big time."

"Ah… I see," Adrian nodded. "And what of that man? It's quite unfortunate, really. A man who virtually is free of sin suffering in such a way. He's lost the colors of himself in an effort to protect himself. He attempts to hide his weaknesses, yet he knows not that in doing so, he hides the pain and fear and trauma attached to it. He is a very strong man, whose armor has already been pierced, and instead of seeking medical help, he seeks new armor to defend himself. Now, don't misunderstand, the man is not foolish, he simply feels his wounds will not cripple him, and yet when one sees him for who he truly is, the wound grows deeper."

Phoenix stood there, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar. _Now I _really_ wanna know who raised this kid._ "Wh-Who are we talking about again?"

"The German prosecutor. The one with the twist of hair hanging over his left-side shoulder. I do not know his name." _You shouldn't even know he exists! You're… You're blind! You shouldn't know what he looks like, either! _"It's so depressing to see that poor man, lost in a world he once thought he'd mapped so carefully. Although he has attempted to escape the darkness, it seems that, in doing so, he has been further consumed by it; something unknown to even his own eyes."

"H-How…?" The raven-haired attorney managed to choke out, "How can you do this?"

" 'See?' Surely, Phoenix Wright, you have seen your fair share of the world unexplained by science." Again, the teen foretold. "You have seen a woman expel herself from another by the simple, powerful notes of truth. You have seen a well-respected woman, so dear to your heart, perish, only to exist in the presence of others held dear to both you and her." _Dahlia… and Mia…! How does he know this?! _"I can see the things others have eluded their eyes to. It is similar to that apprentice of yours, except I am virtually all-knowing. All I need is one's voice to learn their inner workings." He smiled slightly. "However, this fact does not matter, as I must now digress yet again."

"W-Wait! Why? You could save Klavier from his insecurity right now, and-and you _won't_?"

"I cannot," Adrian stated simply, yet those two words each held a powerful gravity. "I am bound. Some things in this world that I see, I must not speak of. There is a delicate balance that I must not waver, and any sort of revealing in the excess would do just that." His voice lightened once more. "Klavier, is it? Ah, such a pleasant ring it holds. It suits him rather well; such a beautiful instrument capable of singing the most delicate song, as well as the most daunting. You can choose to keep its hood closed, and in doing so, you protect it the most efficiently, and it, itself, is strongest. But, shall you choose to open it, you hear the entirety of its song, yet it is so easily destroyed. All one simply needs to do then is break a single string, and the instrument is shattered, never to be repaired again."

"That's… quite an analogy. One that… suits him well, I suppose."

"Mr. Wright, might I inquire as to how many lives you've saved in your line of work?"

"Um… I don't see why not. I… believe, if you mean how many people I've acquitted, that's been quite a number. I can't even count how many anymore."

"Well, atop saving mine, you have the possibility to save another's." Although the attorney wanted to believe that 'life' was Klavier's, his life was not in any danger. It was simply lost, and needed time to work out its troubles. "It can only be done, however, if you have the means." Adrian warned. "Do you have such means?"

The raven-haired attorney thought for a long while, slicking back a hair in front that always managed to free itself from the neat comb. Finally, he decided, "This isn't my battle. I'm not saying I'm going to disregard poor Klavier's cries for help, I'm just going to help another tune in to hear it. This isn't my fight. If I try, I'll only make it worse; he feels like he has an obligation to apologize to me about taking my badge, and that I shouldn't be burdened with his worries. I know a man whose fight this exactly is. And if I'm right, he'll fight to save Klavier to the bitter end."

* * *

**A/N: **Not sure if the diary page/nail polish is being subliminal, or if mind is just being lazy… ^^' Yeah, I changed a couple things: the little bold statement won't be at the bottom of subsequent chapters anymore, because I figured if these chapters are good, people will review them without hesitation… or maybe not… ;-;

Finally! After six long chapters of basically saying the same thing over and over again (or maybe other stuff… :/), I finally get to do some crazy shit next chapter! }:D MWAHAHAHA!

Yeah, the first two scenes are basically recap, but then, in Klavi's house… D: REJECTION!, followed by angst! Yay… (God, I hated writing it, too) Then we introduce one of my favorite OC couples (well, I love 'em all :3), the blind and the deaf: Adrian and Alex~! I added that bit of romance because I wanted to make a shoutout, AND because I knew I could use it as irony from what Apollo had just experienced. Alex is so full of angst, it's ridiculous… -.- He's supposed to be broken, like a mirror to Klavier's new personality (see what I did there?), and Adrian is just… Adrian *Heart!*. I swear I made him before Adrian Andrews, so I hadn't any idea that the name was ambiguous… ^^' Yah… I can't imagine how a blind and deaf relationship would work out either… :/ but it's still adowablez. I know that Alex seems really broken, and that's because he is (he just lost his dad, peeplez), and Adrian was the only help that he had (just thought I'd throw in some backstory). So yeah… and Adrian is supposed to be kinda godly. In my other story, where he came from… he's… special. Very special. *heart* And Alex was a cheery kid before his daddy died. ;.; Poor Alli…

So, which do you happen to like better? Adrian? Alex? Neither? I really wanna know. :3

Klavier… and mirrors… don't get along… He's even taken the precaution of hiding all of them! I feel so bad for him… He was rejected… and he's coming out so Uke… ;.; I swear, if this story hadn't been about him, he'd Seme like a beast… (Why is this so hard?) Lots of stuff happens in the next chapter, lemme tell you. It was a kinda-sorta Supernatural story-ish. But next chapter, I'll show you just why I chose to change it (and it's not just because of Addie! ):{)

*Gasp* DARYAAAAAAAAAN?! What the hell have you [I] done?! Gahahaha… I put the Douchebaggery Scale: [MAX] I kinda figured he was missing it in the flashback, as he was supposed to, and I decided to pull the real Daryan we all know and love/hate. ^^' This may be the only scene that I'm gonna have with him at present. I might have another, but I assure all of you Dary fans, he will appear in flashbacks (as Klavier is verging on insanity… and his mind and I can't get enough of tormenting him… ^^').


	8. Chapter Seven: Deep Within

**A/N: **Finally! After a two chapters being 10 000+, this chapter happens to be a bit shorter. I don't know if that's good or bad to some, but it was kind of strange. This chapter is so very pivotal, and it's only around 5000 words. Makes me wonder what that says about me… ^^' Well, I kept saying that the Fluffy stuff is gonna go away, and I'm not sure if it has, but it's definitely gone by this chapter—I can assure you that. If this chapter felt a bit rushed, please tell me, because I feel that way right now… :/

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Deep Within**

* * *

_Gavin Household_

_July 26, 2027—2:08PM_

With a rattle of the keyhole, the formidable wooden door to the Gavin Household creaked open, its brass bones having been woken from its long slumber, a very exhausted-looking prosecutor trudging in, a hand wiping against his face, his sweat holding his troubles of the day as the beads clung to his fingertips.

_"Due to lacking evidence to undoubtedly convict Mr. Adrian Bellinger, we ask that both teams take the opportunity to investigate the situation surrounding Miss Feights's death further. Who exactly was it in the room at that time? How was it possible that a bullet took Miss Feights's life? Until these questions are answered, I cannot deliver my verdict. I expect there to be answers from both teams when we reconvene this trial tomorrow. But until then, court is adjourned!"_

_'Undoubtedly,' says he. Undoubtedly… you needed no more than one eye to uncover the truth to that crime. A sense that Mr. Bellinger, sadly, did not have. Achtung… the case might as well have ended there, and yet they still find reason to keep him on the stand._ The prosecutor's mind was lost in thought as he settled his briefcase on a coffee table. It was here, as the violet-clad rocker had been doing so aimlessly, that such a briefcase impeded on a resting glass, pushing it off the table, its container shattering along the floor, its contents spilling over the hardwood. Klavier's thoughts snapped from its situation to the current: the shattered glass. However, he stood blankly there for a moment, his eyes fixed on the magenta liquid travelling along the crevices in the polished wood. _Punch…_ _And here I am, again wondering how many things can set me off… _He growled lowly, the sides of his eyes beginning to sting as the scene before him played out: a defense attorney waiting patiently as a prosecutor returns to a couch—the one where the defense attorney sits—surrounding a coffee table. The attorney poses a question, and the prosecutor gently lays the drinks he was holding adjacent to one another on said coffee table, and the prosecutor sits down beside his defense attorney friend. They converse a bit, and in doing so, expose the prosecutor's fears and insecurities. He realizes it is now or never, and the prosecutor asks the defense attorney a question. He asks of a secret that the defense attorney could be trusted in knowing. Kindly, the defense attorney agrees, and leans in to hear the secret. His decision, for better or worse, made, he shows the attorney his secret that he so longingly had needed to reveal.

The attorney rejects his secret.

Klavier bit his lip back, forcing the emotions back within him, forcing the distressed cries back into his throat, the painful tears back into his eyes. _Punch left to sit in the wood will spoil it._ He thought quickly, if only to distract himself. His mind thought the idea to allow his beloved pet have a share of the drink, yet the glass laying about the floor would harm her paws. As he turned to the kitchen, his eyes met another familiar, yet disturbing object: a mirror—or rather, an exposed mirror. A mirror that had previously been covered, now glinting prominently in the ardent sun. Despite his crippling fears, he escaped past it—no other site to be seen in its reflection besides his own—and gathered the necessary tools to clean up the mess. The process of lapping up the wayward liquid, drying the area and sweeping up the hazardous glass took the man about six minutes—six minutes to distract himself—to which afterward he returned the supplies.

As he was passing into the kitchen, his eyes caught the damning sight again along the now-exposed mirror. "You never did answer my question, brother." Was the disappointed response that emerged from Kristoph's throat.

Atop all of the hell that the young prosecutor seemed to be going through, there in the middle—before his own cerulean eyes—stood Kristoph, and he could take it no longer, yet his mind disallowed any more physical harm to come to him. Instead, he retreated to the leather couch as he curled into a ball, his hand darting out to his briefcase, producing his cell phone from it. Anyone could be called. _Anyone_, so long as he had _someone_ to free him of this nightmare. His fingers punched in digits, yet his thumb dared to hover over the 'Send' option on his touch screen. "Nein…" He whispered. _Anyone… except Apollo. _So his fingers redialed the numbers, this time not so afraid to push send, and awaited the dial tone to cease. As he did so, he attempted to level his voice and free it of any sort of tension or fear.

"Hello, this is Pearl Fey, secretary of the Wright and Co. Law—"

"Guten tag, Fräulein." He greeted rather hastily. It was that girl, the one he had seen during the investigation. She was the younger of the two ladies that accompanied Phoenix. The one who was smitten with Apollo. "Is Herr Wright available?"

"Um… you're that guy…" She responded, a bit of dream in her voice. "Mr. Klavier, right?"

"Yes, that's me. Is Herr Wright available?" He repeated, the slightest hint of irritation climbing into his voice. "I need to speak with him."

In a distance, away from the receiver, the girl called out Phoenix's name. The blonde quietly thanked the powers that be that it was not the other girl, the one who had been smitten with him. Who knows how much longer the conversation would have lasted had he been stuck with her? After a moment of silence, a male's voice could be heard over the receiver. "Klavier? That's you?"

"I would hope so," He chuckled softly. _I'm willing to bet he hasn't any idea I'm here, horrified, curled up in a little ball like a cat. _"Anyway, I'm sorry for the short notice, but I'll be joining you all for that dinner that Apollo was talking about, if that's okay."

The raven-haired attorney chuckled. "Oh, that's alright. It would've been so dull without you. Glad you can make it. Can you make it there by, eh, half-past seven?"

"Of course," Klavier's smile was small; he would have five hours to himself that he would rather not have. "I'll see you then."

"Great," The blonde could feel Phoenix's smile from the speaker as the call ended. He only hoped that _his _voice was as joyous as he had spoken. He was now left alone in the condemn of his usually-bright house for five hours, without even the possibility of moving, as his mind could take no more of Kristoph's torments, and in nearly every hall held a demonic mirror. The only option in his mind would be to rest. Rest and recover his energy for the afternoon ahead.

_"Klavier…" Daryan whispered, his arms wrapped around his beloved. "I know that your jerkass big brother's mad at you, but maybe we can meet up tomorrow?"_

_"And how would I plan on doing that, Shark Boy?" The blonde nestled himself against the rhythm guitarist's chest, drinking in the light scent of his cologne. "I can't really drive or anything, and you can't show up; Kristoph doesn't know we're together, after all. He'll probably shoot you, or something."_

_The ebony-haired rocker laughed outright. "Damn… the way you make your brother out to seem, it's like he's some sort of… demon, or something. Just… the only encounter I had with him… he didn't seem anything like a jerkass. What happened between you two anyway?" He combed through the short, platinum blonde locks as he caressed Klavier._

_"He said he was going to make it to our first concert—and he owed me too! Since he couldn't make it to my court debut—and he doesn't. He said he had an investigation to run, and I could understand that, but he didn't come, even _after_ he was done investigating. Jeez, some brother he is." _Little did the young German know at the time that the reasoning behind the absence was due to the fact that the concert was to be the last mortal night for Klavier. _"And on top of that, he kept bitching at me because of my nail polish. He was so excited for me to start using that second bottle he gave me. I thought he of all people would want me to wait until I was done with my first!"_

_"So you used the first bottle, unlike what he wanted,"_

_"Exactly!" The blonde sighed. "I don't know what I'm gonna do, Daryan. I don't want him to find out about you, but I want to see you again tomorrow…" He rested his head on his other's chest. "He's furious with me, I know that. I'm probably gonna get pulled from the band, he's so furious. He said he's getting fed up with my attitude, and that the band is poisoning my mind. That I'm getting this rebellion-mindset because of you guys."_

_"Then sneak out," Daryan grinned, a shocked expression lacing onto the younger rocker. "You love me, don't you?"_

_"Of-Of course, but… but there's some things you just don't do!" Klavier protested. "I… I'm afraid of the consequences."_

_Daryan laughed outright again. "You're not afraid of the consequences, Pianissimo! You're afraid of living, that's what! C'mon… your brother seems like a mild guy. I'm sure the consequences wouldn't be that bad."_

_"He'd worry so much…" The blonde guitarist muttered, then sighed deeply. "Just enjoy the time we're having, ja? Instead of worrying what tomorrow will bring, shouldn't we just enjoy the fact that we have each other, right here and now?"_

_The older guitarist chuckled softly, pecking his lover on the forehead. "You're right, I guess. And he won't be that mad at you, I know that. You're a good kid, Klavier. No matter how rebellious the band gets, _you'll_ always stay your sweet and mild self." As the lights dimmed down and the janitors packed away finally from the aftermath of their first successful concert, two lay there center stage, hand in hand, as the ivory light sprinkled on them from the alabaster moon. "And I love that about you."_

The blonde's eyes snapped open to the sound of his phone's alarm clock. The time read half-past five. He felt it as good a time as any to prepare for the dinner ahead, and, with a stretch, knew a shower was imminent, to cleanse his body and mind and clean his morning breath-ridden mouth. Alas, however, the trek would mean encountering two mirrors: one laid in the hallway, and another in that bathroom—the very first encounter he had with his deceased brother. With a groan, his mind weakly convinced himself that if he was to rush up the stairs, he would not have time to notice the change in the reflection.

Willing to be convinced by anything that would distract him, he followed the orders his mind had given him and, for the most part, it worked. Despite the fact that he did possibly see the figure of Kristoph in the hallway mirror, he did not attempt to stop and find out. As he slammed the bathroom door shut and began to strip from his clothes, his eyes wandered up to find the reflecting surface of something that should not exist; the mirror that had previously been shattered now stood proudly as it had been, overlooking the bathroom. With caution, the prosecutor decided that he would, more or less, ignore the presence of the mirror, in hopes that this action would keep the reflection as his own.

He made his way to hastily scrub his teeth, lather his skin and hair, wipe off, and virtually start and end the showering process as quickly as humanly possible, deeming it a miracle that Kristoph failed to appear through the entire process. Even after he dressed himself in a black suit-jacket and purple dress shirt, black dress pants, among other accessories, such as his rings, earring, and sunglasses, as well as fedora and signature 'G' labeled necklace, the older Gavin failed to appear. As he adjusted the socks to his boots and rose, however, there stood Kristoph, an approving look on his face as he smiled warmly. "You look wonderful, kleinen bruder."

"K-Kristoph…? You're being… nice to me…?" Were the tense words that left the younger's lips.

"I would think that an older brother would be kind to the younger, yes. Oh," He interjected as Klavier attempted to tie back his hair. "It looks better down,"

The existing Gavin did not lower his guard. "What do you want…?" He hissed spitefully.

"I want to ask a question of you, brother, if that is alright." Kristoph's smile still held its warmth. It was not at all like that of a killer, or that of a sinister stalker in the reflection world. Enamored by this—by the sheer possibility that the older blonde could mean no harm—Klavier nodded slowly. "Good," His voice became sinisterly stern, "I want to ask if you believe I exist."

The younger blonde's eyes fell in disappointment, and a swell of courage and anger entered his heart. "Fuck off, Kristoph, and leave me alone."

"That band is the reason you have that bite, no? It's so cute." He chuckled darkly. "It reminds me of the time that you kissed Justice, just a single day ago; I could see that bite in him."

Klavier's face heated up in an embarrassed flush. "This has nothing to do with him!" He cried.

"Oh, I simply tease, brother." Kristoph smiled. "But I will leave you with your… _date_ tonight. Just try not to ask him for his affection in front of the others, will you? Try to convince him otherwise. Perhaps apology flowers will do." _All of the other days, he had been so inhumanly cruel to me. He insulted me and hurt me where the pain would last the most, but today… today, he's so… human. Why is this somehow worse…? _With his mind a typhoon of confusion, upset and frustration, he abruptly left the room, Kristoph's final words echoing in his head as he left, "Remember what I asked you, brother. Question it: do you believe I exist, or not?"

* * *

_7:45PM_

A bad habit of Apollo's would have to be his insistent speaking whenever he is nervous. "God, I can't believe how long people have to wait for their food. I mean, why do we get our drinks so early, and our food so late? Why can't the just bring it all out at once?" The reasoning behind his nerve was the fact that, after all had settled down in their respective seats—Phoenix flanked by his husband and daughter—Apollo was left to sit beside Klavier: the man who had unexpectedly kissed him. He spoke nothing as the crimson-clad attorney attempted to direct is questions towards the Wright family. "I mean, after you gorge yourself with appetizers and bread baskets and blah-blah-blah, you're left completely full! It's so stupid!" He chuckled nervously to himself for a moment, as even simple Trucy had not spoken a word back to him, her eyes fixed on the ebony-clad prosecutor. In the silence, the chocolate-haired attorney attempted a question that would elicit a response. "So, Mr. Edgeworth, do you still call yourself Mr. Edgeworth? Or are you Mr. Miles Wright, now?"

Mr. Edgeworth chuckled lightly. "I still go by my birth name, Edgeworth. This is to minimize miscommunication."

"Oh, I can understand that." Apollo nodded, noticing the prosecutor beside him removing his sunglasses with a stressed sigh. "And Mr. Wright, how's your case going?"

Phoenix smiled nervously, his eyes fixed on Klavier as well. "It's been good. I don't really want to discuss to many things. After all, my pride is poor Klavier's lament." He then commenced a conversation with his husband, leaving the remaining three in silence.

Finally, after a long pause, Trucy spoke. "Klavier, are you okay?"

The blonde looked up, his eyes distracted. "Oh, I'm fine, Fräulein. I… just need to use the restroom." He rose abruptly, and left towards said direction.

The cyan-clad magician sighed. "He's not okay, Polly."

In the restroom, the blonde sighed. He would hope that he could have been able to sit away from the attorney. The stalls lay abandoned as the prosecutor massaged his face in warm water. As his eyes lifted from the faucet, words could be heard. "So, did you get around to giving him those flowers?" Klavier's eyes fixed themselves on the glint of Kristoph's glasses, unable to speak, his mind shocked. All times before, Kristoph would appear when Klavier was completely and utterly alone. Although no one was else was in his presence at present, anyone could simply walk in to see the deceased man, or perhaps see the form of a psychotic man protesting against his own reflection. In this despair, Klavier's emotional threshold was finally shattered under the weight of his distress, and his eyes befell to tears, the reminiscence of the failed love attempt lingering in his broken mind. The older tsked, hushing him sympathetically. "Don't cry, brother. Don't cry. You shouldn't waste your tears on me. But let's face it, I'm the only man you've left to confide in. Is it the fact that Justice will never love you? Or the fact that I, now deceased, am acting in such a brotherly way?" Klavier opened his mouth to answer, yet a strangled cry was his response. "Fine. How about I amend this, brother?" His voice grew cold. "You still have yet to answer my questions, after all."

"And what would that be…?" The younger blonde finally choked out.

"Firstly, I asked if I could borrow you, which could now be answered by my second question: do you believe I exist?"

Klavier whimpered. "Just… Just please… leave me alone… I don't… I don't want this anymore. I never wanted this. Just… leave me be."

Kristoph chuckled darkly. "Oh, that can never be done, brother." He leaned in, as if staring the younger Gavin down. "Never, because of your hand in my condemning."

Apollo did not want to believe it was his doing and his doing alone that Klavier was so distanced. It wasn't his entire doing that he had silenced himself, was it? After all, he had paled considerably before the… _incident_, so the attorney must not have been entirely to blame. It was unnerving to know that the others had seemed to sense this distance in the younger prosecutor, and felt a discussion need be made over his new condition. "Has anyone else been noticing that little Klavier has been acting oddly?" Miles finally asked, having been unknowing of Klavier's personality since he dropped him off at Kristoph's nearly ten years ago. "Has he… always been like this…?"

"Far from it, thankfully." Phoenix murmured, his eyes focused in concentration. "At least he hasn't always been this upset. But that's also concerning; what exactly happened to him to make him act like this so suddenly?"

Apollo gulped sharply. If asked, what would he be to do? He would have to confess the entire matter, and this in itself would cause a discussion. However, the magenta-clad prosecutor did not seem to sense this tension rising in Apollo, his mind coming to a far more radical conclusion. "Perhaps…" He sat on that word for quite a while, his face contorting into a pained expression. "Perhaps he suffers from some sort of depression?"

It was here that the crimson-clad attorney's mind made a terrifying connection: Klavier's distance was akin to another boy's… one whose depression was absolute: Alex Albertson. This new fact did not bode well in Apollo's mind. He opened his mouth to allow the connection, but bit his lip back thereafter. His paranoia of the kiss made this so. However, his mind did allow him to think of the pained words that slipped from Klavier's lips. "_I was just so lonely…_ _You… were the only one that bothered to find _me_."_ _What if all of my ghastly hunches have been correct? After all, he's lost his best friend _and_ his brother… and I just pushed him away… What if what Ema said was right? What if… the very first time I called him a friend… what if that confidence in his loneliness… "Achtung, baby! You're right," A broad smirk crept onto his lips. "I… am alone. I have no one but Vongole." What if _that_ was all a ruse too? What if he really _does_ want to end it all? What if… What if _I_ was the reason he would…? He needed me, and I couldn't help him… _Apollo attempted to swallow down the lump forming in his throat. _What if… he really does want to kill himself?_

* * *

_10:14PM_

The door to the Gavin Household slammed shut as its blonde owner quivered inside. His eyes were small and ferrule, his hair slightly feathered out. The prosecutor braced himself along the great door, sliding down it, hugging his knees against himself, whimpering lowly. The man he calls his brother was now a confident creature, as he was unafraid to make his own kleinen bruder seem insane, as any sort of man could have entered that restroom to see the blonde arguing with his own reflection. He knew there was no way out; it was either confront his brother head-on, or live the rest of his life in this crippling fear. He put on a brave face, stepping in front of a mirror, where, to no one's surprise, Kristoph stood. "You have yet to answer any of the questions I have for you. Nor have you allowed the conversation to end in peace. It was very rude of you to walk away from me."

"What the hell else did you want me to do?" Klavier sneered. "You're a reflection; you don't move with me. What else could be done?"

"You could respect me enough to let me finish speaking before you decide to storm out like a spoiled child." He tsked, shaking his head. "But I suppose I needn't ask any more questions to a man who obviously won't answer them. You need not know what I am, or if you believe I exist, because I will _make_ you believe. I need not ask your permission to borrow you because I know you will not, and I will do so anyway." Before the younger German had time to react, he found himself staring, petrified, at the form of his older brother emerging from the mirror itself, now with a wicked-looking knife at hand. With all but one leg freed from the reflection, "Well, for the sake of your sanity, kleinen bruder, I'll ask again: do you believe I exist, or not?"

The young prosecutor loosed a strangled, horrified gasp, rushing away into the kitchen, his mind a blur of fear and panic. _He… is real, isn't he? And he's not bound by the mirror anymore! He's going… He's going to kill me! _Besides the thoughts against his own life, Klavier managed to grip a knife, in hopes of protection against his brother, a man who wielded his own blade. As he turned to confront the older male, he cried out, finding him looming just above him, the light cavorting off his bones to shade them in the darkest of ways, his smirk gleaming sinisterly. As he readjusted his glasses, it was to be known that the Devil's twitch that disturbed his brother to no end was now a prominent scar upon his hand. "Away…! Get away!" Klavier gasped, a manic slash cut upon his brother by his own hand.

His eyes crept open to find his brother unaffected. "You've not heard the news, have you, brother? I am dead. Such playthings won't harm me." He tsked condescendingly. "It's becoming quite the bother to keep asking this of you, but you still must answer me in the end: do you believe I exist?" His voice now held an irritated edge to it. Again, the younger Gavin could not answer, his panicked mind doing no good to attempt to rationalize an answer. He managed to slip past his brother, who simply stared at him expectantly, hungrily. Safety, Klavier thought, must be found in his bedroom, but alas—and the younger German had a hunch—no such thing could be found, as his suited brother stood there, examining one of his sketchbooks. He smirked. "You were so cute when you were so sheltered, Klavier." He turned to the younger, a sweet smile on his face. "That memory loss, such a gift it was. It changed you completely; you found a new confidence, and became the just man you are today. You were no longer crippled by the torments of the life you left behind."

"What about my past made me so sheltered?" Klavier inquired, his adrenaline still heightening his senses, still readying his blade.

A light chuckle emerged from the deceased. "If I had not answered you to the ends of my hours, brother, why, then, would I answer you now?" He closed the sketchbook lovingly, his free hand still gripping the demonic blade. "After all, I'm here to borrow you."

"You… You wouldn't hurt me, brother!" Klavier cried, his mind still distanced as his instincts took over.

"Oh, really?" Kristoph challenged, his voice dark, as he slowly approached the younger blonde, who recoiled, his kitchen knife still at the ready. "Or is it you that would always fail in harming me?" With this said, Kristoph's blade sliced swiftly along the readied hand, causing Klavier to retract in pain, dropping the kitchen blade, the crimson liquid dribbling down his right hand. He now found himself backed into a corner. "Well, since I now have the upper hand, I'll ask you one final time, brother: do you believe this is all real?"

The younger Gavin shut his eyes, exhaling his tension, exhaling the pain he now experienced. "I… I do. I do believe you are real, brother, but I can't determine how. You said yourself you're dead, after all." He murmured, unable to meet his brother's eyes.

The older blonde chuckled lightly again, "You have seen those two girls from the Kurain Village, no?" Hesitantly, Klavier nodded. "And are you aware of their practices?" Before the prosecuting Gavin could answer, the defending attorney decided to press his answer ahead. "These girls master a technique to channel spirits—the disembodied souls of the dead. They allow their bodies to be passage from one world to the next. So, I will ask now, what do you believe I really am?"

The younger Gavin stood there, stunned by the eerie realization. "You… are one of those souls." With this answer, another begged to be asked, "Why then, Kristoph, are you disembodied?" He asked gingerly.

Kristoph leaned in towards his brother—as close as one could get without contact—his lips parting, his breath ghosting, a single word, "Revenge." Kristoph, then, dove inside of Klavier's own body, entering within him.

Klavier gasped sharply—it certainly was not a feeling one could be accustom to—as the pain overwhelmed him. Two souls are not meant to control one body. This would mean that one would have to hold power over the other. One would have to quiet the other. The younger Gavin knew that his brother could not be allowed to hold such control over he, and he threw himself about the room in a mix of pain from the intrusion itself, and determination to hold claim over his body. In the effort, the fight made Klavier knock over several items from his dressers, as well as a few sketchbooks from his bed. Thereafter, something within the existing Gavin fell into loss, a horrible shriek emitting from his throat. In a dizzied and pained mind, Klavier fell short of breath as he felt his body slip from him and into the possession of another, and he collapsed onto the bed, his room laid in ruin.

* * *

_July 27, 2027—12:04AM_

Calling out in the distance was a young owl, distraught as the unforgiving rain began to pound harder upon the dark trees just beyond the cascade-kissed windows. This was the very first sound that the man was capable of hearing in a long time. His cerulean eyes danced from the confides of the dreaming darkness to the uncertainty of the subsistent light, a familiar ringing sound shrieking in his exhausted mind. How could he forget it? He caused that eerie sound only moments ago. He took the moment to look himself over; was his shirt fixed right? His jacket? Perhaps his hair or his shoes? He'd have to get used to them. Certainly he felt… different, but that was to be expected. Everything about him was relied solely on feeling alone, as the room fell into the abyss of the sleeping night; the room cried out to the lightning just outside, bleeding the contents within the velvety-violet walls briefly in a white light, revealing all that had happened only moments ago.

The young man groaned; his room was a disgusting mess, but he had only himself to blame, didn't he? The ivory moon just outside was condemned to the shadows of the blackened clouds as they furiously down-poured upon the innocence of the land. The young male tensed his right hand; it was odd, being ambidextrous, and it was an even stranger feeling having this newly-mastered hand streaming in blood. He groaned once more; such bloodstains would be a nuisance to remove from the hardwood floor if he so happened to let it set. He removed himself from the cryptically disastrous room to fetch a dampened paper towel. The stubborn disarray could be cleaned at a later time.

As he mopped up the drying blood and mended his room slightly, he attempted to readjust himself, examining further parts of his bodily functions—certain gaits, different facial gestures, and even the flexes on his hand. Once he began his flexes, he then realized, after having forgotten, that his hand was sobbing blood. His lip and eyebrow twitched distastefully, and he removed himself from the now-partially-clean room once more. Suffice it to say, he knew his way around the mischievous ebony pathway. Lord be damned if he had forgotten his way in his own house. After completing his task, he found himself short of breath. If it was _that_ again… The young man was given no other choice than to relax himself on his couch as _that_ settled itself back down, the crippling pain nearly felling the man as a ghastly chill crept along his spine. How annoying. He finally thought he had ridden himself of it, but alas, all good things must heave a hefty price tag. He could only wish that it would settle soon; the poor hardwood could only bear so much dried blood on itself, and it certainly isn't capable of cleaning itself. The young man felt he had to force it; he took control of his solicitous willpower and forced _that_ back within the deepest confides of his body, never to be seen again, if one was to hope for the best. As he returned to his destroyed room once more, the young man found himself with a partial of virtually everything: a partially-healed hand, a partially-cluttered mess of a room, a partially-spotless floor, a partially-lit house… and, to ice the partial cake, a partially-owned body.

As he replaced the clutter to its original neat state, it was as if a video recording was playing in reverse, the eerie shriek a constant reminder to the body-snatcher of what he had done. "I hope you don't mind," He found himself muttering, as if to _that_. "Well, I suppose it is I who must mind now," He chuckled darkly. "As the problems that were left are now on this body." The desperate cry… the spilling gash along his right hand… the horror plastered on those brilliant cerulean eyes… How could he forget?

* * *

**A/N: **Does Chapter Zero make sense NOW? Eh… it's up to you all to decide if Apollo was right in thinking Klavier was suicidal. If he ever does expand on it, that'll be up to me later on, but I'll probably expand on it, later. So, for all of you Krissi fans who think that he was always a good guy and he killed out of necessity… you're entitled to your opinion, but I'm entitled to mine: Krissi, whether or not he had been doing these things out necessity and was a good guy, he _isn't now_, and I'm milking up that response.

Also, to note, remember what Klavier's profile was in Turnabout Corner, before the first trial. He was the _spitting image of his brother_. Also recall that the Kurain girls _change to the image of the deceased_. If those aren't hints, I don't know what is.


	9. Chapter Eight: Road to Ruin

**A/N:** Jeez, I'm so sorry this hiatus ended up so long… I've just been piled a mile-high in homework, and the day that I didn't, Pokemon White 2 came out so… I haven't really gotten the chance to update. :/ Part of it was excusable, but, if you realize my fangirlism towards Pokemon, I'd hope you can excuse it. But now, I'MMA BACK! WITH REGULAR UPDATES (hopefully!)! So… for all of you that don't really want to reread the last chapter, I'll give a brief summary, that'll hopefully jog your memory (or skip if you remember):

Klavier is still upset after having his chances of being with Apollo crushed by his harsh rejection. He decides to take Apollo's invite to dinner later that night, and, to occupy his time so he won't see Kristoph, decides to nap. He dreams the reminiscence of the aftermath of their first concert, to which you find out that Kristoph did not show, because that was supposed to be the day Klavier died, and Kristoph, implied as guilt-ridden, did not want to be there when it happened. At dinner, Klavier sees Kristoph in the public bathroom—this is a big deal, due to the fact that every other time, Klavier had been completely alone. This means that Kristoph is not afraid to make Klavier seem insane, should someone wander in and see him talking to his reflection. Klavier returns home, paranoid over this news, and decides that he must confront Kristoph, as he no longer wants to live his life in fear. Well, this is quickly regretted, as Kristoph emerges from the mirror, and asks Klavier if he believes he exists or not (a repetition of which happened earlier at the dinner). Klavier panics, leading to a series of events that end in Klavier's room, with Kristoph remarking on 'how it was a blessing that Klavier was so sheltered' (or some such). Thereafter, he enters Klavier, and Klavier loses control of his body. *See Chapter Zero*

Okay, I'm gonna note that there's an asterisk (*) later in this chapter, and that's simply because **I don't know any German, so that entire piece is translated from German, and it would have been in German had I known it. **And I'm going to put a second disclaimer for y'all: **this chapter gives way to the reason why INS is now rated M.**

So, with those two things in mind, please enjoy~!

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Road to Ruin**

* * *

_Gavin Household_

_July 27, 2027—11:26AM_

He knew it was all a failure. The blonde returned home with the heavy slam of the door, attempting to groan out his seething rage, but to no avail. How could he? The maggot within him was a constant annoyance, and, atop that, in less than twelve hours, how could one mimic the personality of another? Needless to say, the ending half of the trial of Adrian Bellinger was a complete and utter disaster. His accent was far too light from when he first interacted with another human being in the Defendant Lobby No. 3 (that being the spirit channeler, Pearl Fey), and his personality was far too skewed. Anyone with half the intelligence as he could realize that the Gavin was not _Klavier_ Gavin. Atop all of this, halfway through the court session, _that_ reemerged, attempting to fight his way back into control of his body, causing an almost crippling and _noticeable_ pain to the older Gavin. If he had succumb to any sort of trouble that the younger Gavin had caused him, his cover would have surely been blown, and there's no fun in that, is there?

The aftermath of the courtroom scene played like a sweetly _unturned _violin in his mind. _The blonde slammed his fist against the wall, reminding himself that he had to use such force something so unorthodox as a _wall_. "Well then, Herr Wright… this is your endgame?"_

_"Pretty much. Find anything wrong with it? Mr. Reynolds seems to." The cerulean eyes wandered to a man, pinned in a fine white suit, running his finger along the collar, as if the collar itself had long clamped around the man's throat. "Mr. Reynolds? Is something the matter?" He asked expectantly._

_"You… found that… how? You _couldn't_ have found that…! It was perfect! My plan… was perfect!" The man before the prosecutor and attorney (which, unbeknownst to the cobalt-clad, there were actually two of his kind) had a breakdown of epic proportions, and even so, the spiky-haired attorney fixed his eyes on the ceruleans critically, as if _judging _him._

_Kristoph's mind dared to ask the attorney what was the matter, and yet he knew himself where the problem lay: there in himself. So, with a scoff and reinvigorated accent, 'Klavier' spat out, "Something the matter, Herr Wright?"_

_The man's eyes did not falter, and his asserted "No," barked out confidently, as if he knew something; however, he claimed, "It's nothing…"_

But, indeed, it meant everything. The older Gavin's lack of replication of the younger's quirks could have cost him everything. But he believed, personally, that his later actions made up for it, as he began to meld into Klavier towards the end. He believed, if only to have someone to convince.

Inside the body lost to him, the blonde's body crumpled in a ball in the center of the room he dubbed the 'Waiting Room,' as its purpose was just so: to wait until one was given the opportunity to enter. It was simply a large room, decorated in shades of purple, with a single black door with no sort of handle. The purple surrounding that door swirled demonically. However, despite it's dub, the room lay empty, excluding the defeated prosecutor. Klavier sighed, his body too exhausted from the massive efforts he had exerted to regain his body, all to no avail. His mind focused on Apollo, the man of his dreams that slipped like sand between his fingers. Said mind dared to wander into the damning thoughts of their unachieved togetherness, though it did not stay for long, replacing with the stinging reminiscence of rejection. His eyes stung as fresh tears glistened down his face. He whimpered, defeated. _How many times have I cried over this…? _The prosecutor wondered hopelessly. _I'll never have him. Haven't I gotten over that by now…? _He slid his sleeve across his leg, a dull itch pestering just underneath it.

_"This is exactly the thing you deserve, Klavier! You told yourself time and again that if you let someone see your pitiful heart, that they'd break it again, but you wouldn't listen, would you?! You had to convince yourself that you could tell someone and that the reason they did that was because they loved you. Ha! What a joke! That's exactly what happened the first time, and this is the same result: a broken-__verdammt__-heart, and who do you have to blame but yourself?" _It was all true. The heartache he dealt with that day, it was as if he could bear it no longer. For just a moment—a single, fleeting moment—the prosecutor had to admit, the thought _did_ cross his mind. Perhaps simply a flash… an instantaneous thought… but whatever it may have been, however it may have entered his mind… it did, and it entered fiercely, hiding its face so tantalizingly. He whimpered inwardly. How weak must he be to feel that all of those around him are worth such nothingness that they shouldn't be considered when the thought of suicide crosses his mind? As if they're so insignificant that they hold no place in his heart…? But truly… they _are_ the reason he, although caged, was still a warm, living body to that day. Albeit, _he_ is not in control of such a warm, living body, yet his soul still remained, and that _had_ to count for something, perhaps even a small fraction. _I have to live… for them. Although they probably will never truly love me the way I do them… I have to protect them. I have to live._

And what of that moment? That single, vivid moment that was the only clear memory that could reach Klavier's mind of his events pertaining to the overworld? What of that moment where 'Klavier' was defeated, and yet all the navy-clad defense attorney could gaze upon was the man he could never know as Klavier? If the cerulean-eyed prosecutor could only believe, perhaps he could have foretold that Phoenix Wright did, in fact, see _something_. Perhaps not so far as to see the man behind the mask, but to see that a mask was _there_, and a man was masquerading under the persona of Klavier Gavin. But alas, even his mightiest efforts to be heard had found themselves in vain.

If a soul was to go about trying to be heard through the body, one such soul would need only give enter to the room the violet-clad prosecutor dubbed the 'Control Room.' If the door was opened to it, it meant that any sort of spirit could simply enter, and from there, Klavier does not know the exact process of reconnecting with the body. All of his existence, he had been in control of it, having never left it. The _process_ itself is foreign to him. However, if one soul was already in the process of occupation, the door would be shut, allowing no interference between the soul present in the Control Room, and the body he or she is controlling. Be that as it may, a man, as desperate to regain his rightful body as Klavier, tried every attempt to force the locked door of the Control Room opened, be it kicking, shoulder-tackling, prying… all to no avail. He did, however, manage to message _some_ sort of response onto his body. In the annoyance and lack of focus on Kristoph's part, the body of 'Klavier' would, perhaps, sustain a headache, or a chest-ache, or fall short of breath. It may have been minute, but it was about the only way the existing Gavin could warn the world of his deceased brother's possession. In the effort, however, the younger blonde had grown exhausted himself, and could no longer send out such 'signals,' although they were far too subtle to be called such a thing.

The black door slid open finally, an entrance that led the Control Room, exiting the older Gavin, his arms crossed behind his back, his cerulean eyes hidden behind a sinister glint. He was smirking expectantly. "Well, well, kleinen bruder. You do so love to pester me, don't you?" His lip and eyebrow twitched a smirk.

Klavier turned away, his body tensing, as if ready to strike. "You already have control over me… so why do you choose to exit?"

"Because, dear brother, it seems as though I cannot truly silence you, not forever. You see, if one such as, let's say, Phoenix Wright, were able to see these stresses you exert upon this body," A hand waved around the purple walls of the Waiting Room. "Well, now, then he would grow suspicious, wouldn't he?" The older blonde chuckled lightly. "After all, he's already begun to worry about your health, long before I ever entered you, albeit, I must admit, it was my fault even then."

"Yes, Kristoph, I already know this. Phoenix grew wary of me because of your first appearance in the mirror making me so paranoid." Klavier responded rather irritably. "So, where exactly are you going with this 'not-being-able-to-silence-me' thing?"

"That," Kristoph smirked broadened. "Well, I'm here to amend that mistake. I've underestimated you once again, Klavier, how foolish of me." The deceased male shook his head. "So I will ask you, have you ever wondered what your history was?"

Klavier's eyebrows knit, his body relaxing slightly. "How do you mean?"

"It is a simple question, Klavier. Do you ever wonder of your past? After all," The words babied from his mouth, "You've always been so proud to say you've forgotten."

"Well," Klavier growled slightly, his voice cautious. "I… have, yes, always wondered. But… you've always said it was a good thing I've forgotten."

Kristoph chuckled lowly. "Well now, let's just have you see for yourself, shall we?"

Despite the ambiguity of the whole process, there was something within Klavier that simply did not trust Kristoph's words, and his feet made their way to back away from the older male slowly. However, his mind could not register the 'flight' instinct, nor the 'fight,' and instead, he whimpered as Kristoph drew ever nearer predatorily. The younger barely had the breath to whisper out a 'Please don't,' before the deceased tapped his fingers onto Klavier's forehead, opening the gateway of his mind and allowing the memories to flood back into him.

* * *

_Bernau bei Berlin, Brandenburg, Germany*_

_2018—3:26 PM_

_Gavin Household_

The narrative eyes cast their sights upon the window. A dreamy sigh was passed. The narrator's hands moved quickly to chop _something_, the thought of the outside world occupying his mind. _What a wonderful thing the outside must be,_ thought the narrator, _t__o go out to see so many sights and be free to do whatever you want…_ However, the narrating mind wandered to dark thoughts… the thoughts of horrid men doing horrid things to innocent people such as he. The narrator shuddered at the thought, his mind newly occupied by this, yet this time, he was unable to escape his mind's own torments.

"Klavier, come," The older man commanded from behind a newspaper-cloaked face. The room before those seeing, narrative eyes was white, and rather bright. The dining tables were made from a fine oak, and the coffee table before the commanding voice was glass; light poured in from the various windows set about the room. To the narrator, it seemed as though it was an upper-middle class, or even a rich, household, and he appeared to be in the kitchen, occupying himself by preparing some sort of meal involving tomatoes, as the narrator's hand was gripped around one, half-cut, a tomato knife in the other. There was a copious amount of fruits billowing from a glass display plate as the narrator gathered an apple from it, setting it down next to the granite cutting board used as it would be for the tomato.

Upon the man's call, the narrator wiped his hands clean on a washcloth, ridding it of any sort of juice or seeds, and proceeded over to the voice, his mind finally free from the dark thoughts plaguing his mind. The narrator was, indeed, Klavier. From his peripheral vision, Klavier was in simple clothes: a tee and sweatpants, not at all like his usual clothing choice of today. Judging by his size, one could see that Klavier was not young. In fact, he appeared in his mid-to-late teens, about the age of is court debut. The man gripping the newspaper was wearing a casual white suit and matching dress pants, a black dress shirt underneath and black tie hanging neatly around his collar. His brown hair was combed neatly back, yet his expression was unreadable behind his newspaper. "Yes, father?" The younger male responded in a very weak tone to be accredited to Klavier Gavin. He bowed politely as he did so, his hand in the other, folded across his thighs.

"You realize where we are to be headed today, yes, Klavier?" The man asked expectantly, a warning undermining his voice. He folded the newspaper finally to look his son in the eyes. His chocolate eyes were set slightly in his face and barricaded by thin glasses, showing no warmth, nor love, nor emotion regarding his child. His face, though, was rather warm.

However, as these words were delivered, Klavier's face heated up, a panic overcoming him, and yet he somehow contained it. "Father, please—" He began to protest.

"_You realize where we are to be headed today_, yes, Klavier?" The man repeated harshly, yet his expression was unchanged.

The younger Gavin winced. "Y-Yes, father…" He muttered, defeated. "But, please—"

"Did I ask of your opinion, Klavier?" The older male's voice held the same authority as was previous.

"N-No, father,"

"Well then, there you have it." Klavier's father tossed the newspaper onto the coffee table with a sigh as he stretched. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"Yes father," The boy avoided his father's sharp, chocolate eyes. They held the same shade as Apollo's, when they were not so hard. "Why must I do this? I… I don't want to…"

"I did not ask of your opinion, Klavier, but I will acknowledge your question: it is simply because we need the money. It may be a bit easier now that Kristoph has left to America, but it is still not so easy, as you do not have a job. But, because of this, you do." His smile was more of a chore than an event. The man rose, being noticeably several inches taller than his son, and patted him on the head. "So please, dear son, go and wear something nice. This is your job, after all."

The younger Gavin turned away from his father's eye, his own beginning to well in tears. He, however, could find no words to say, as it was not asked of him. His father was turning to leave as he stifled a sniffle. His father froze in place and, as such, Klavier froze. The man turned around.

"What was that?" His calm voice hid the furious hiss the boy had come to recognize after all these years.

"It was nothing, father!" Klavier whimpered desperately.

"It's a terrible thing when you lie to me, Klavier." The man tsked, his hand striking across Klavier's cheek. The teen recoiled with a wince, shuddering as his hand held the wound. "Good boy. Now, go upstairs and change, and make yourself presentable. And this time, without tears, shall we?"

Klavier gave a slow nod, hurrying upstairs. His room was not so simple as the clothes he wore. Around his bed lay several sketchbooks and a camera, all sorts of different colored pencils and different types of pencils, as well as two worn erasers (a plastic and rubber) and a sharpener, filled to the brim with shavings. As well, there were many scattered photographs of people and such through the viewpoint of a window, a single photograph tucked under a sketchbook, and a notebook beside that, a pencil tucked inside the spiral. The photograph held a picture of a man, with short, blonde locks and bright cerulean eyes framed under thin glasses. He wore a dress shirt and held with him a book of law. In the sketchbook was a similar drawing of the photograph, yet it was incomplete. There was the shorthand 'Kristoph' scribbled on the sketchbook page, beside the drawing. The notebook beside the drawing held words on it. In German, they were titled, 'The Parallel of Moonlight:'

_'The glorious day of night; _

_How the sun rises for the dark-dwellers._

_Such, the moon-riders thrive upon the sleeping sky._

_Do they fear the life of the light?_

_Or do they simply enjoy the caress of the ivory moon?_

_Or do they wish for an alabaster sun to call their own?_

_Nonetheless, the night holds its own life,_

_As the sun holds its.'_

Quickly, the teen turned the page, scribbling down words upon the backside of the previous poem.

_'Hold me in your arms, happy Hell,_

_For your caress grants much more the comfort than the life lived before me._

_You treat my heart in fire._

_They treat my breath in gasps._

_I cannot begin to comprehend why I am given the life I have today,_

_Yet I take it day by day_

_As night subsides to night_

_In the hellfire of light._

_The waning sun gives lies to sun-seekers_

_As the outside is bathed in falsities._

_I see the Mother Earth for what it is_

_And holy Hell is kinder than she.'_

Afterwards, his eyes on the verge of tears, Klavier scratched down the title, 'Master of the Shameful.' With a sniffle, a signature, a quick date to the top-right margin, and a shut of the notebook, Klavier did as his father commanded, changing into a casual suit and fedora.

* * *

_4:15PM_

When the two arrived, the blonde had been trailing a great distance behind his father, as if the warehouse they were entering bade entrance to Hell itself. Klavier's father knocked upon the door, calling him to his side in the wait. Finally, a small visor slid open, eye-level, in the door. "This is?"

"It's Klaus, you buffoon." The chocolate-haired father grumbled impatiently. "You _do_ remember me, don't you? Or has your memory failed in the last few days?"

"O-Oh! Mr. Gavin, sir… right this way," The heavy metal door creaked open, revealing a thin-haired man with a scraggly beard. He was dressed in a coffee-stained dress shirt and brown dress pants. He eyed Klavier hungrily as the two passed by, brushing a hand through the younger's hair. The blonde winced away from the man, drawing nearer to his father. The balding man snickered, "Who's getting him this time, boss?"

"Quiet," Klaus hissed. "You'll scare the boy; he's already frail as it is."

Banter went about as the youngest male lay motionless. "Yeah? Why's that? Bringing him back too soon?"

"Oh no, no. It's seems as more a hiatus than anything, sorry I've been gone so long. It's simply that Kristoph returned from America a few weeks ago, and left recently. I was simply giving Klavier time to recover from the…" He glanced at the blonde. "_Withdrawal_ of it all." The man combed his large hand through Klavier's short locks. "He does ever so miss his brother. Probably the last time he'll see him until he's ready to leave the nest."

"_If_ he leaves the nest, Klaus. Just lookit him, he's nothing at all like how you claim Kristoph to be. Kristoph seems confident—"

"—Because his damned mother gave him such a sanctuary, in her skin." Klaus grumbled.

"—And Klavier just seems so much more… worthwhile."

"Well that's simply because he's had to deal with you all as well as I. At least Kristoph learned to bite because of Klaire. Klavier, however, was not taught so, and I reaped the reward." Klaus drew a his fingers along his son's cheek. "And he is much more beautiful."

"Well, like I said, _if_. Who knows? Once you're tired of him, or when he reaches eighteen, whatever, you can leave 'em with us." The balding man chuckled darkly. "I'm sure this is just like a second home to him."

Klavier winced subtly, attempting to look the man with his peripherals, but to no avail. Klaus laughed heartily, patting his strong hand on Klavier's shoulder, producing a more noticeable wince, yet Klaus ignored it. "Well, child, it seems as though you have company." Klavier's response was a slow, pained nod, as if the lever in his neck had rusted, and took such effort to crane. "Good boy, now, do you want me to take you inside?"

"No, father," Klavier murmured emptily.

"Alright, son. I'll be back by six." The younger Gavin nodded painstakingly again, a tear contouring down his face as the warehouse door slammed shut, leaving the teen alone with the balding man.

"Hello, Oskar," Klavier greeted blankly, his eyes avoiding the balding man's.

The man drew beside the teen, and as his body paralleled Klavier's, his eyes flicked away from the man's pale blues once more. He combed a hand through the blonde locks, and tousled them absentmindedly. "Hello, pet." Klavier winced slightly at the nickname. "Come now, Sven shouldn't be kept waiting, should he?" Oskar made his way for a doorway, and swiftly motioned to Klavier to follow. As if robotically, the adolescent did just so, yet only after the command.

There stood another man, well-built, a thin scar etched across the skin above and below his lips. "Ah… Klavier. Good to know you showed." The man wrapped a hand around Klavier's back, pulling him into a rough kiss. The blonde did not protest, however, and instead molded his lips back into the other's mechanically, dully. Sven pulled away, his hands gently rubbing against Klavier's arms as he murmured, "What's wrong, baby? You alright?"

The younger male turned away. He knew these men; they knew no sympathy for him. They cared not about him, but only his body. They wouldn't care how he _felt_ on the inside. His response was silence. "Don't waste your time, Sve! He's a quiet one; hope you like that sort of thing." Oskar cackled.

This man… it's true, he'd never seen this man before. He was tall, ginger, handsome, with mesmerizing, ice-blue eyes… yet those eyes held that same cruelty… that same stinging _hunger_ that the veteran, Oskar, held, and it disgusted Klavier to no end. "Oh, I don't mind, Os. It'll be fine either way. Probably best that he's quiet; it's my first go, after all." He gazed at the adolescent—examined him—for a moment, the older male's large hand cupping his chin, as if he was a confused schoolchild. "Um… Os? How do you…? How do… make him start?"

Oskar, distant, laughed outright. "You just ask him—no," His voice hardened into a feverish chill. "Command it." It was here that Klavier, upon this command, began to unbutton his suit, letting it flit to the ground, and removed his accessories, as Sven stared in awe. "After all," The man reappeared, his silhouette ghosting spectral hands along Klavier's now-exposed back. "He is your slave." Klavier cried out weakly as his hair was tugged back, jutting his head up to meet Oskar's wild eyes. The man restrained one of the blonde's hands, rubbing a thumb gently into his palm. "Isn't that right, Klavier?"

The latter whimpered as Sven bent down to meet Klavier's eyes, noticing the ceruleans beginning to well with tears. "I…" He bit his lip back, sobbing softly. However, he molded his lips to the unknown man's, his free hand caressing the ginger's cheek. Oskar freed the teen's other hand, allowing him to wrap it around Sven's neckline, lifting himself nearly off the ground in an effort to meet their lips. After a moment, Klavier pulled away, his eyes still as cold and lifeless as glass, a voice to match. "I am your slave."

"Wow…" Sven grinned, exasperated. "This'd all be just so much better if you smiled a little bit." He wormed a hand to the blonde's chest, drawing his thumb across his nipple. "But I suppose that doesn't matter; I can make an exception with a face like yours." The teen remained silent, never protesting a moment as the man unlatched Klavier's belt, allowing it to glide onto the floor with a clatter. He took the blonde's shoulders, pressing Klavier against himself, and he finally gasped. "What? You feel that?" Klavier's piercing ceruleans mirrored foreboding and utter horror; the man's actions may have been rough, but most newcomers were never so blunt. He murmured 'Yes,' unable to see the taut intrusion between his hips. Lord be blessed that the man was still wearing pants. His answer was followed by a swift strike. The blonde whimpered, the tears welling over his emotional threshold. "No, you don't. Your jeans are in the way. Now get your damned pants off and make sure you can _feel_ it."

Klavier, with a withdrawn cry, pushed the ends of his jeans down, allowing it to slide to his ankles. He then knelt down to Sven's pleading bulge, and amended this quickly. He removed the man's belt from his waist, dragging his jeans down onto his ankles before stroking a hand onto the unexposed length. "Good," Oskar cooed from behind Klavier, combing his own hand through the platinum locks as Sven moaned from above. He removed the clothed barrier slowly, exposing the man's aching arousal. Before the man could even reprimand, the youngest male pressed his wet tongue onto the man's length, rewarding the self-proclaimed sinner with an instinctive thrust and shocked gasp from the ginger.

"The hell…? You don't have to tell him…?" The man murmured, half-focused, to his veteran partner. Below, the entirety of the blonde's mouth intruded upon Sven's aching arousal, bobbing slowly—deliberately—along him, causing shudders of pleasure to creep along Sven's spine, with the light graze of the youngest male's teeth along the man's length.

Oskar chuckled, his fingers trailing lower, along Klavier's spine. "Of course not; he knows what will become of him if he doesn't;" The teenager squeezed his eyes shut in the prospect. "His father would be ever-so cross with him."

"Well then, Klavier, is it? You should be no problem to me, right?" The blonde removed himself from the man's cock, and nodded slowly. "Good," He waited a moment, as Klavier lay still. "…Is that all?"

The ceruleans locked with the man's turquoise, the voice produced was in a monotonous sort of trance. "Would you like that to be all?"

"Well…" The man scratched the back of his head. "Of course not, but I guess you're tired of my dick, aren't you?" He grinned slyly as Klavier remained in silence. "Fine, I'll continue to something else. Now get up and take your underpants off—they're distracting."

The teenage blonde did not break eye contact with the man as he removed his boxers, creating a pile of discarded clothes just above his ankles. He stepped out of them carefully, a breeze from the air conditioning causing him to shudder, clutching his arms around each other.

"Aw… you cold, kiddo? Here," Sven took the blonde's shoulders, bringing him to his chest. Klavier shuddered once more—not at all by the cold, but by the contact between their hips. "There we go…" The man hushed Klavier softly, smoothing his hair, as utter disgust washed silently and absolutely over him. Never has anyone condescended him in such a subtle manner. Why, as if he was dumb, this man felt he could insult Klavier in any sort of manner, yet he chose to act as his friend, or even perhaps a caretaker, when the ugly truth was already blatantly obvious. Who could even know how old this man was? Thirty? Forty maybe? and Klavier was only the age of sixteen. No matter what it was they were exactly doing, none of it could be suited for a boy of sixteen. This assertion was affirmed when the man presented his hand to the boy, as if it was in courtship. The blonde's response was a blank, yet knowing and foreboding, gaze. Sven seemed to catch onto this. "What? Something about this bothers you?" His voice grew cold and deliberate. "You know exactly what this is, and what to do with it, don't you?"

"Yes,"

"Then do what I am thinking." With another painfully mechanical nod, the younger male took the man's wrist, bringing a limp digit to his lips and, in the same manner as the man's arousal, Klavier wrapped his tongue around it, molding it into every cranny of the moist cave of his mouth, and released it with a small kiss and a nudge of his nose before moving onto the next. It took every effort for Klavier not to gag or even vomit at the experience—not because of the facts of the experience, no, but the fact that he was there, pinned to a wall, with a man's grubby digits nearly shoveling down his throat. However, he remained calm, and as such, Sven remained lenient. And, as all do when the matter of wetting digits comes to a necessity, the man trailed those digits down along Klavier's spine (at this point, Oskar had grown quite a distance between he and the other two boys, watching analytically) and finally the first intruded past Klavier's tight entrance, a content hiss snaked from Sven's lips as a second one was inserted all too hastily into the slick warmth, stretching the area for further intrusion later. The platinum blonde occupied the time that the rookie was indulging himself to press his head just underneath the man's chin, the masterful tongue caressing Sven's nipple. It baffled the teen that the man could be called a rookie. He was far too knowing of these sorts of things to be called one. Or perhaps it meant only that he was a neophyte to the underground? His theories and thoughts were interrupted as his platinum locks were gripped tightly and pulled foreword, jerking his head into the man's chest, and spun around, thrust back into the wall as his chest pressed against the cold metal. He shuddered once more, unable to cry from shock. "I think you know where I'm going with this, right Klavier?" On the verge of tears, Klavier nodded. "Good, but I won't leave you like this, no…" His fingers still kinked into the blonde's locks, the ginger threw Klavier against the floor as the latter whimpered meekly. "Os has to get his chance, doesn't he?"

In the back, the honey-haired man chuckled darkly. "You're doing stupendously, Sven." The man knelt down by the youngest male, setting him onto an all-fours position. "Now, since it's your first time, I'll have you decide where you want to be." The two men conversed quietly amongst each other as Klavier remained still, hoping to whatever power that time would somehow speed up and relieve him from this hell. Klavier finally pivoted his head upwards once a set of legs presented themselves in front of him. The face was that of Oskar's. "Lookie here, Klavi. Looks like you're gonna be getting me this time around, huh?" The blonde turned away, attempting to fight back the stinging tears, holding the thought of his older brother tightly to his mind. For the moment lost to him, Klavier didn't even realize the intrusion within him southward. However, as that moment passed, he gasped as Sven length became known, wincing slightly at the sting he never managed to regulate. Oskar gave him no time to react, as his own arousal wormed through the youngest male's resistant mouth.

The men raved amongst themselves as the boy below prayed still to the highest power as the throbs of the man in front of and behind thrust into him. He writhed and repositioned himself, gyrating slowly and deliberately as he caressed the honey-haired veteran's length in the recesses of his mouth, dragging the moist muscle along the man's aching cock. An answering moan echoed across the cold warehouse walls, rumbling across the metal landscape, along with the powerful groans of Sven. "Jeez," The ginger moaned, one half of him exhausted, yet the other half was too indulged to stop. "Does he ever convey, like, _any_ emotion whatsoever?"

"As far as I know, his dad taught 'em too strict." Oskar's bony laugh boomed across the warehouse. "Scared the living shit outta him's what I hear. Made sure that every sort of emotion—be it happiness or fear—was rewarded with a quick smack to the face." The man trailed a hand down the blonde's spine. "Isn't that right, puppet?" Klavier ignored the question, hoping his deliberate licks would be enough to deter the man, and, having known the veteran for quite some time, it was. The two men could no longer converse, as their feverish need pressed them further into the youngest male as the his silent tears escaped, drawing a bitter taste to the sweet bliss. Finally, the blonde's prayers of a quick event had suddenly been realized, but the teen, however, knew the worst part was to come. The men both gasped, Sven spilling onto Klavier's back in a sort of squeamish shy, whilst the masterful Oskar knew to keep himself inside, knowing it was what he hated the most.

Klavier hacked and spat at the splurge, it having recently deposited into him, and, just as, the heavy warehouse door opened up once more as he scrambled for his clothes, shuddering subtly, entering his father once more. "Oh, look at you, dear Klavier; you're a wreck. Again." The latter shakily reached for the moist towel set handily nearby, ridding himself of the violation slightly as he cleaned himself of the white substance on his skin. _Is it six o'clock already? _The man's son occupied his mind in thinking. _It can't be… that… was far too quick to be one, two hours… _And the traumatized blonde was far too right. Two hours had not passed, and Klaus Gavin had around an hour to kill.

Klavier, unknowingly, readjusted the clothes on his quivering skin, and drew himself nearer his father. The older Gavin, however, drew his fingers along the blonde's platinum hair, and, all too suddenly, gripped it tightly, forcing a shocked and tormented cry from his son. "Father—!"

Klaus hushed Klavier softly, trailing a finger lightly across his son's cheek. "Hush, dear boy. If you struggle, it will only make things all the more painful. Just relax…"

"Father, no…" Klavier whimpered, violated tears streaming from his innocent cerulean eyes. "Please… no—!"

* * *

_Los Angeles, California, United States_

_Gavin Household_

_July 27, 2027—11:34AM_

The younger Gavin slumped down upon the floor, unable to react… unable to cry… unable to shriek… from the experience. He simply lay there on his knees, whimpering softly.

"Well that was fun, wasn't it, Klavier?" The darkness in Kristoph's smile now had meaning. _All _of his actions now held water. He bent down to his suffering brother and gripped his chin, forcing eye contact between the two. "How does it feel to finally learn about the father you held such a precious image for?"

The younger blonde's arms unconsciously wrapped around one another. Yes, now he truly felt naked. "Our… Our-Our… papa…"

Kristoph's breath ghosted along Klavier's nose as he spoke, "Yes, Klavier. Klaus Gavin was a sick, sadistic man. He realized your beauty… realized how much… _profit_ one could gain from such a trifling thing as beauty. He used you, in every sense of the word." The existing Gavin was finally able to find his voice as a shriek tore from his lips, and he gasped; Kristoph's fingers wormed past Klavier's belt chain, loosing it away, then moved to tug at his boxers as the latter chuckled lightly, sinisterly.

"Kristoph—!? S-Stop!" He cried, as Kristoph did just so, yet his hands soon met Klavier's shoulders, pinning him against the wall as his black jeans wriggled to his ankles.

"And do you know what Klaus made me do? Before he would send you to those hideous men… for them to dominate you… he would first make _me_ dominate you." The deceased Gavin's tongue darted out against the younger's cheek, forcing a gasp from the younger's throat. "And that is why you don't protest, brother. That is why you accept this; although your mind has forgotten, your body is ever-so used to this."

As a hand pushed itself between Klavier's bare skin and underwear, he begged, "Kristoph, please…! You're my brother…! These things… don't happen between brothers!" Tears began to trickle from his eyes; he could no longer hold back the mix of emotions flooding from this sickly act. "Stop! Please…!"

Kristoph chuckled darkly again, his lips brushing lightly against his brother's neck. "Oh, I won't stop, brother. I delight in your pleas." His eyes finally met Klavier's, whose were trembling from fear of this hideous man. The glint of his glasses marked his expression unreadable. "This is what I have done to you, Klavier. You are _mine_." He threw his younger brother on the floor, pinning him down with his arms. The younger Gavin cried out once more, tears streaming from his eyes as he kicked and flailed under his brother's grip. He sobbed out his brother's name in a desperate plea as the dark walls within the Waiting Room seemed to give unto Kristoph's silent commands, emitting dark vines of sorts (they were elegant, as vines are), binding his brother's arms and legs. A shriek tore from Klavier's lips whilst the vines bound him, as a cerulean eye turned to see its owner's brother undressing. "I quite enjoy seeing you this way, Klavier. You're contained, out of the way." Kristoph reached a hand out towards Klavier who subsequently snapped his teeth out to the wayward fingers. "Oh, kinked, are we? Fine, I'll grant you your wish." He sat his brother up, then dragged him to a stand as the older Gavin finally pushed off his own dress shirt and let it glide to the floor. A frigid hand snaked up the younger brother's dress shirt, beginning to slide across his nipple. The existing Gavin cried out once more, trying desperately to break away from the darkness binding him to the wall, but to no avail as Kristoph gently pressed his hips into Klavier's, producing firstly a sharp, panicked gasp, then melted into an unexpectedly compliant groan. "You can't help it, I see," Kristoph grinned sinisterly, drawing his belt away and allowing his dress pants to fall to his feet. "Your mind will always be programmed to be the little whore you are, brother, and I," He tugged away at Klavier's shirt, throwing it off his arms, leaving the two men standing there in nothing but their undergarments. The older blonde quickly amended this by dragging out Klavier's underwear, allowing it, too, to fall to his ankles. "Shall reap the reward."

He then presented to the younger Gavin his index and middle finger. "Wh…? What is this…?" Klavier whimpered.

"You already know what this is, little brother." The older sang expectantly. "This is the only way you can reduce the pain. It's the only way you can make this easier on yourself." He presented the fingers once more. "Now you know what to do," For whatever possessed him, Klavier no longer held control over his movements. Every ounce of his mind screamed in protest, yet his body moved closer to the older Gavin in a sort of trance; his tongue compliantly dragged along Kristoph's middle finger as his mouth took the entirety of the digits, wetting them in every crevice he could manage. After some time, with a pop, he released the fingers from his lips, nudging them away with his nose, a glazed look about his eyes. "Good, good. I see that I've educed the true brother that's been hiding from us, no?" The moist digits trailed their way along the younger Gavin's back, causing it to arch in response, and finally met their destination southward as one was inserted. The younger blonde gasped out, writhing slightly in the heat of the pleasure, chuckling lightly. He took his brother's bronze cheeks and surrendered his tender lips to him. Kristoph cooperated with his desperate brother's offerings, drawing his lips around the canvas of Klavier's skin as they traveled south to the base of his neck. A second finger was inserted, forcing a gasp from the younger blonde as the digits worked to stretch and scissor his opening whilst the older continued to suckle at the soft junction. Klavier, with a sharp sigh, stiffened. "Nein, nein, kleinen bruder." The older Gavin sang soothingly, his lips brushing against the younger's neckline. "Remember, I am doing this for your sake. I don't necessarily _have_ to be so kind." With this warning, Klavier compliantly relaxed with a shaky sigh. The deceased gave an affirmative purr as his free hand glided from the embrace of his shoulder to his sensitive nipple once more. Klavier bit his lip back to muffle the groan and he wondered if he was going to manage this foreplay alone.

"M-More…" He murmured finally, eyes inert and lidded. "I want… more of you… bruder." The younger tried his hand against the darkness binding it, expressing how restricted he truly was. "Please… let me have more of you…" To assist in his request, Klavier darted his tongue into the foreign mouth of his brother's once more as Kristoph removed the wandering digits from his brother to wrap around his shoulder. His knee gently pressed between Klavier's legs, producing another low groan.

Kristoph finally chuckled, drawing away from his brother. "Fine, Klavier. I suppose I can, if you insist upon it so desperately." The younger whispered his thanks as the binding darkness faded. He dropped to his knees as he gazed at his brother longingly, gently removing the clothed obstruction, exposing Kristoph's restricted length. The existing Gavin's tongue darted out swiftly, dragging along Kristoph's base, producing an answering groan. Kristoph's fingers quickly found their way to the younger's platinum hair, tugging and scratching at the locks as they surrendered themselves from their twist. With a moan, Klavier gently pressed his lips to its head before combing his teeth over its entirety. More affirmative words tumbled from Kristoph's lips—derelict of which of the two languages he spoke them in—as Klavier's bobbed gently along his cock, mixing in a glide of his wet tongue here and there, and retracting once to peck Kristoph's testicles. He pinched the saliva-ridden muscle into the slit as a pre-ejaculatory blot woke from within his length and oozed out, forcing a grunt of approval from the deceased. The wriggling muscle cast out to collect the liquid reward. In the heat of the moment, Klavier had completely lost sight of exactly _what_ he was doing; the only thought in his mind was that it was familiar to him, yes, and that it felt _right_, in a way that made him feel sick inside. As to sustain the moment, Klavier felt it best to release himself from the aching cock, sliding his chest along Kristoph's as he pressed his lips against his chest. "Oh, is that all?" Kristoph tsked, slightly disappointed. Being the 'receiver,' Klavier said nothing, awaiting Kristoph's next action. "I suppose it can't be helped." He smirked, his hand worming down from his brother's chest, trailing past his hips to finally capture Klavier's cock, aching and hard from arousing the other's.

He loosed a strangled gasp as the older blonde began stroking. "Kristoph…!" He choked out, coherency lost to him, as his arms clawed out to whatever it could grip so tightly on, and found nothing. In their need, they sought out Klavier's own hair, kinking and scratching through, unable to withstand the pleasurable torture that Kristoph was issuing, and he whimpered sharply. "Now…! Please… now…"

Kristoph chuckled again, amused by his brother's response, and shook his head slowly, stopping the motion along Klavier. "I will do as I please, brother; I will choose when you will get what your reward. Not you. So relax, and savor the moment, ja?" He stood himself still for a moment, drinking in Klavier's feverish whimpers and pleasured twitches. "You do ever-so badly want this, don't you?" The words teased from his lips as more statement than question. Klavier's panting grew heavier as his head fell against the wall behind him, moaning fervently. "Tell me, brother, how badly _do_ you want this?"

The younger blonde thought for a moment. He wanted so severely to despise it. Kristoph brought their relationship into every sentence he possibly could, despite the wrongful act the two were committing in, but his mind wouldn't care; something about this particular act of arousal did not bother Klavier, though he so desperately wanted it to. "I…" His mind struggled with his body; every pleasing ache pulsing along his nerves begged his lips to draw out that he wanted nothing more than to surrender himself to Kristoph's every demand, but his mind was screaming, fighting away from this intimacy. "I… I don't… I don't know…" The feud finally ended in this undetermined response.

"Really?" Was the expectant word that drew from Kristoph's lips. It was as if he knew such a response would be said. "Well, I suppose I'll have to work to change that response, ja?" With a dark chuckle, Kristoph pressed his legs against his brother's, gently working his hips into Klavier's—his length along Klavier's. The younger yelped, biting his lip back, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face. "Is that better?" Klavier could not respond, his sense of speech lost to him, reducing him to the vocabulary of a newborn. He growled longingly. "So, I'll ask again, how badly do you want this?"

In the struggle between mind and body, Klavier's eyes began to drip with tears; this feeling… so wrong, and yet so _right_… His lips whispered ruefully, "I want this…" Was his final, lethal response. "I want this… so badly." He gasped for a breath of air, sobbing. "Please… Kristoph. Finish this…!"

The older Gavin smirked sinisterly. "And here I thought you'd never ask." He forcefully gripped onto the base of his brother's hair, emitting an unexpected and tormented cry from him, before throwing him to the floor. Klavier writhed along it for a moment, attempting to regain himself and also attempted to decipher exactly _what_ took over him. Before he could allow Klavier to gain such a peace of mind, Kristoph took his brother's hair again, producing yet another cry, forcing eye contact between the two. "I frankly don't care if you're ready for this or not, brother." He explained, his intimacy now melted. "I really don't care how much you'll cry and scream; I just want to disclaim that if you attempt harm me or escape, I will _break you_." Klavier whimpered, sniffling softly. His compliance with his brother led to nothing; his efforts to make this as painless and cooperative as possible failed him. He could truly see the Klaus Gavin in his brother's eyes. Kristoph roughly pressed his lips to his brother's, and it was nothing at all like a few moments ago; it was no longer tender and slow, it was now painful and forced. The younger Gavin snapped his eyes shut, the tears stinging down his cheeks, and the older forced his foreign tongue into his brother's mouth. Klavier gasped, fear instilled in his wild cerulean eyes, as Kristoph maneuvered himself behind the younger male, the darkness shrouding the younger Gavin once more, binding his arms and legs, forcing him into a dog-like position.

"Kristoph… please…! What are you doing?! Please don't—" Klavier's desperate attempt at peace between the two was quickly silenced as he was struck without mercy or care. He bit his lip once more, constraining his grieved cries, tears silently cascading down his now-reddened cheek. It was oddly silent as Klavier could hear only his own sniffles, awaiting the moment when Kristoph would finally start the hell-ride. He wanted it only to start so it could finally end.

The final, acidic words that crept from Kristoph's mouth sealed the younger's fate. "You wanted this, brother." A large disturbance intruded into Klavier, an agonized scream tearing from his lips. His arms fell numb, collapsing him to the floor, as Kristoph began pounding his cock into his brother. Klavier continued to whimper and grunt, attempting to resist, as his brother's need worked his cock faster along Klavier's anus. Whilst doing so, Kristoph jerked on his brother's hair, coercing Klavier back onto his dog-like position with the latter's pleading whimper. Kristoph pressed ever faster into his brother, finally colliding into the area where Klavier cried out, eyes snapping shut in bliss. The deceased Gavin ceased the opportunity to cup his hand around his brother's destitute cock, shafting down the area aimlessly. The younger Gavin gasped and panted as the initial thoughts of violation coped in his mind, relaxing him. He quite savored the moment. Immensely satisfied, Klavier finally loosed a muffled moan, reaching his high. The world around him became dizzied and blurred as he felt a warm liquid spill onto his back. Kristoph, too, had reached his own high. The younger Gavin collapsed, panting, as Kristoph stumbled back a few paces, regaining his sense of mind. "Well, now," He mumbled, his mind still distant, "_That_ was fun, wasn't it?"

* * *

_Albertson Manor_

_11:41AM_

"Well now," Apollo gasped slightly, taken back by the boy's sudden hug. For a teen that had looked upon you with those piercing turquoise eyes so distantly, so distrusting… the hug was certainly something to feel shocked about. "Alex… you seem very excited." He chuckled, embracing the rust-haired teen.

"And I am." Alex smiled, those turquoise eyes shimmering. "I… can't thank you enough, Mr. Justice." Apollo blushed slightly; he'd never realized he was older than the boy, nor was he expecting such a level of regard. "You not only saved me from my verdict, but you saved me from myself." Another squeeze. "And I can't thank you enough."

Apollo's eyes grew sad with concern. "But… what about your future?" The latter's knit in confusion. "I mean… your father, he's… and-and you have no other living relatives…"

Alex smiled in a bittersweet way, his eyes warm. "It's alright. Adrian said that his family will take me in;" His voice grew quiet with a sense of urgency. "He _is_ walking free, right?"

"As far as Mr. Wright has told me, yes."

The younger male bounced slightly in excitement. "Oh, that's wonderful! I can't wait to see him! You know… today will have marked two years for us."

The attorney's mind flashed to a certain violet-clad prosecutor—the pain written on his ceruleans as Apollo had screamed at him—and his mouth filled with a bitter feeling, and… perhaps something more. "Um… Alex, I hate to be blunt but, um… you know how you're gay…"

Alex chuckled, amused at the feather-headed attorney's squirms. "Well, yes…"

"And… you have a boyfriend…"

"Mm-hm,"

"So…" Like any moment of extreme awkward and embarrassment, Apollo's hand sought for is feathers, combing them back. "In a scenario when your guy friend kisses you… how do you, y'know, react to it? How do you treat it?"

Alex's face was honestly curious at this point. "You mean, the preservation of your friendship?"

"Well… no, how do _I_ react to it?"

The rust-haired teen chuckled once more. "Why should this matter? You're straight, and obviously the other man is not… so why should it matter? As long as you're still friends…" He grew solemn. "Unless… you don't know yourself well enough."

Apollo's face heated as the insult afflicted him in ways he could not explain at the moment. "Wha—?! How-How dare you! I am _straight_! I always have been, always will be!"

"Then why did you ask it? If you know you're straight, why do you not know how to react to this man?" The crimson-clad attorney stared at the boy, a fierce defense emblazoned on his chocolate eyes; however, the words of protest would not spill from his lips. Perhaps it was due to a mind-block? Or perhaps it was something more…?

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah… there is much teh yaoiz… and sorry that neither of them were, y'know, consensual… and, I'll disclaim, _none of it is_. I believe that there is only one other yaoi/rape scene in this story, so I knocked off two of them here… Hopefully they were good… kinda dumb to put my first ever two yaoi scenes back to back… :/ (Perhaps an R&R of how I didz?)

So, what do you think of Mr. Klaus Gavin? He's a character… and he's definitely one of the two abusive-types I use (calm and abrasive, with calm being usually professional, with a normal/CEO-type job to hide the fact that he's a frikken rapist, and abrasive, which is the stereotypical abusive: loud, angry, slaps a lot. Calm usually tends to condescend spitefully and coolly as they do so whilst abrasives tend to scream their heads off). He happens to be the more favorite of the two. Just before I wrote this, I was thinking I'd make him the second type, but I wanted to make him this type, so as to base him off Kristoph.

Just so you all know… the two poems made by Klavier were created right off the dome for me. They are original poems made by Klavier (meaning me, WishMaker7), so… yeah… you can steal them, I don't care. 'Parallel of Moonlight' is simply Klavier's observation of animals of the night compared to animals of the day, saying how they are different, and yet so much the same, and 'Master of the Shameful' foreshadows the life of trafficking that he has to face everyday, claiming that Hell would be better than the shameful things he has to do down there. And now you know that it's because of his sheltering in Germany that Klavier is such a motherfucking-good artist/photographer! As you've seen with the re-reference to Chapter Zero, trifling things like his artistic capabilities are things that _all_ hold water, so… yah. I'm quite proud of that feat. ^^

Uhm... just a little 'hint-hint, nudge-nudge,' REMEMBER. **THE DULL ITCH.** Do it. You all remember last time with Chapter Zero...? ;D

And poor, poor Polly. Allie _does_ have a point: if your confident about it, why would you question it? Well, seeing as how the main characters are Klavi and Polly, and it's labeled 'Romance,' I'm sure you can figure it out. ^^'

Oh, and for all of those people who've been following, I've made a FaceBook page:

. ?lh=98c15ff3c9643254e2f2bcf83152 c491&eu=3oPQ8J-_nRW_xEzV0ewvw#!/3905967WishMaker7

So likey and see things that other fans don't get to see~! }:3


	10. Chapter Nine: Too Late for the Truth

**A/N:** Well, I was in such a rush to update after the hiatus that I forgot to post up my link to my FaceBook page! (Well, since it won't let me post the link... it's the url + 3905967WishMaker7)

So, basically this will be an insider's look into me, WishMaker7. It'll show some ideas that I had, teasers/spoilers, the little world I've created for my OCs (eventually), and, well, me... as a human being. So, if anyone's fan enough to be interested (and I won't be offended if you're not), you can go ahead and like the page. (It'll be showing some ideas for the upcoming sequel }:3)

Uhm... about the delay... yeah, I kinda had to merge chapters 9 and 10 into one... and that's why this took me such a long time. I was playing around and seeing if I could fit it all into two chapters, but they were both so short... and chapter 10 was kinda pointless and fit into chapter 9 better. So I had to rearrange things, rewrite things... all that mess... it was terrible... :'C

I should probably stop apologizing... because I hope you can guess that I'm horribly sorry at this point... and can forgivez me... (jeez, I feel worse for my MMW people) ;.;

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Too Late for the Truth**

* * *

_Gavin Household_

_July 28, 2027—2:02AM_

Fear surged through Klavier in waves. Every motion made by his possessed body only filled him with a worse feeling of dread; he was watching his world fall apart, and was too afraid, and violated, to even move. His only hope held in one man: Phoenix Wright. He was the sole character to see Kristoph's mishaps, so perhaps he saw this man parading himself as his brother. And, judging by the way the older threw Klavier's handcrafted vase across the room, he wasn't too happy about the prospect.

"Damnit all… Damnit _all_!" The deceased growled, his instinct of cleanliness forcing the blonde's body to unconsciously grab a dustpan and broom, cleaning the now-mess as he ranted, "What part of me can't understand my own little brother's mannerisms? It's as if I haven't been in contact with him all my life! This is… worse than ridiculous… a blemish that is inexcusable…!" The older blonde growled inside of the younger's body, "I can only hope that that buffoon saw nothing…" He chuckled slightly after tossing the shards of ceramic in the trash. "Well, I suppose there is a bright side to this; after all, I finally get to play around. Pity that the trial was such a useless bother."

Despite his fear, the implications of a man—a sinister man at that—being in control of his body planning to 'play around' did not sit well with Klavier. As Kristoph exited the Control Room (again for reasons unknown; Klavier, at this point, had assumed that it was because Kristoph tired in such an unfamiliar body), the younger blonde wasted no time in pinning the older against the wall with a sort of renewed courage, fueled by concern for his friends, his ceruleans piercing into his brother's. "You…! What is it that you're going to 'play around?' What do you want—what are you planning?"

Kristoph chuckled back lightheartedly, mockingly. "Oh, Klavier, what is this? twenty questions? Oh, kleinen bruder, it's so cute to see you struggle like this. You're fighting so hard; trying so desperately to make your screams and fighting known by pounding away at the door separating us? It's funny how you only seem to gain your strength when others are concerned. Fine," His voice grew into the bitter, cold seriousness that Kristoph was known for. "I suppose it'd up the ante a bit to tell you—make it a bit more fun."

"What is with you and fun suddenly?" Klavier asked, the brother within him unconsciously rising. "Kristoph and fun usually aren't in the same sentence."

"Well now, Klavier; I'm dead, is all. If I get caught, well, who cares? Now," He removed himself from his brother's loosed grip. "Sit down, I suppose. It's much information, and it might be too much for your legs to stand on." With a wave of a hand, a sofa appeared against the wall opposite that which held the door to the Control Room, allowing for the prosecutor to, if not suspiciously at first, sit down. Kristoph seated himself next to him. "You see, brother, have you ever wondered why I was put on death row? Even before the realization that I killed Drew Misham and Shadi Enigmar? Don't you ever wonder who was the little _rat_ that figured it all out first, hm?" Klavier recoiled slightly as the man hissed out. "Do you ever wonder, kleinen bruder? The one who killed me… was you."

The blonde's eyes widened, his disbelieving ceruleans wild. "Wh…What…? N-Nein…! That… That is impossible!" Those same blue eyes began to well in tears. "I didn't… I _couldn't_ have been the reason for your death!"

"Well let's think about it: had you held yourself still during that trial, I would have continued to have a life sentence for one murder, yet I was killed for two. The second only having brought itself to light because of _you_." The younger blonde's lips quivered, as if he was trying so desperately to say _something_, yet his throat held back his choked cries. "And so, Klavier, this is all for you. This whole to-be fiasco is for you." The man's pleasant voice grew predatory and, for the first time, angry. His venomous words spat from his lips. "I was _killed_ because of my own little brother! I gave you _one_ secret to keep, and you paraded it all through the courtroom when you finally pieced it all together, didn't you? Well, brother, _this _is all for you. I will take down every single last man, woman and child you dare to deem important in your life. I will kill them one by glorious one. You _will_ hear their screams. You _will_ hear their cries, and they will never know it was little Kristoph all along, will they? They'll only know it as his brother, his mind so far gone from the reality that his brother is truly dead, and his boyfriend having betrayed him all over again—and atop that, all at once!—and you, in your insanity, will kill each of those that you felt were responsible for my death and his life sentence: Phoenix Wright," His voice grew slick in a sort of suave expectation, "And Apollo Justice." It grew predatory once more after its purpose was served in drawing importance to that name—to that man. "And who knows? Even perhaps the whole Wright family! You're insane, after all. Maybe if I'm in a good mood, poor Trucy and Miles can pile on with the dead!" He chuckled darkly. "And what better way to end it all than for you to die by the hands of the poison that took the life of Drew Misham, and nearly your own—the poison that sent me to death… what better way to die than by an atroquinine kiss, hm? Swirling in the guilt and gravity that you killed your best friends—you're no longer better than your brother was, you were just like him, and now the lives of at least two people were lost because of it. So you'll take that goddamned nail polish and take the _whole thing_. 'Atroquinine, My Love, one last kiss, send to the grave,' is that how it goes in your song, little brother?"

The younger blonde's cerulean eyes were small with fear and shock. "Y-You wouldn't… You wouldn't dare…"

It seemed as though the older did not see such a response coming, throwing his deceased head back in uncontrollable laughter. "Klavier… do you not see where we are?" His arms motioned around the Waiting Room. "If I hadn't the guts to kill those dearest to you, then why do you think I _would_ have the guts to possess my own little brother's body?" Before the existing could respond, Kristoph pushed on. "No, brother, I have every means and every motive to do this. And, in the scenario that the police will look at after finding your cold, dead body, so, too, will you have."

Not quite at grips with the magnitude of exactly what was to become of his body, Klavier's denying mind at least realized that something terrible was going to happen. And, all at once, reality snapped into his head with a single scenario: Kristoph was going to kill Apollo. With that single thought seared into his mind, Klavier charged at his brother, tears streaming from his eyes from the betrayal, and pinned Kristoph to the wall with a strength he never knew he possessed. Simultaneously, and in a sort of panic, Kristoph pressed a finger to Klavier's forehead, reawakening another memory, and giving the deceased the opportunity to release himself as the younger Gavin collapsed, the unlatching lock of the reminiscence like a thousand knives etching into his brain.

"I suppose you never knew anything of our past, ja? So you never knew our mother…" Kristoph scoffed a wry laugh. "But even if you did keep all of those dark memories, how could you remember her?"

* * *

_The seeing eyes peeked cautiously from between the railings of a staircase, of the same household that Klavier had been in, in the flashback previously. Screaming was passed between a man and a woman just beyond the staircase, cut off by a wall. The argument was taking place in the kitchen, no doubt. Judging by the sharp pants, the child was young. He dared to wander closer as he readjusted the glasses on his nose. "You can't keep putting me through all of this stress, Klaus! Please…" The woman's voice was not so angry; rather, it was afraid, worried. It held no authority. "You can't do this, Klaus. Please, I don't know how much longer I can keep this baby if you keep stressing me the way you do."_

_An older voice—a man's voice—responded. The sound itself made the narrating boy shudder. "And what if I don't want you to keep that baby, Klaire? What if I told you that one nuisance is enough in this household, hm? What if I told you that all of the extra stress was deliberate? Since you don't want to abort the damned thing, I just have to find a way to make sure the thing doesn't make it out."_

_"K-Klaus…! You can't do this…! This… This is far more than horrid! First you attempt to beat Kristoph, now you want to kill our baby? You… You're a monster!"_

_"And what if I am, dearest? Why is it that you succeed in being Kristoph's shield for, oh, I don't know, two years or so, and you still haven't left, hm? Oh, I know why: because I'm the worst kind of monster, Klaire. I'm the kind of monster that knows your weaknesses. I know you need my money. But, oh, what's this? you have to live under all of my rules like I'm some sort of ruthless dictator. And I'm the sort of monster that seems like such a gentleman on any other occasion, and you're powerless to stop me, no?"_

_"Klaus… why…? Why do you do these things to me?"_

_"Isn't it obvious? It's because you brought that little zit into the world, and now you want to bring in another?" There was a pause of silence. "Klaire…? K-Klaire? What's going on?!" There was a cry; it was unknown to the boy whether it was a cry for help, or a cry of pain. All he knew was that these sorts of things were normal, so he waited a few moments. He waited to see his mother emerge from the kitchen and walk him back upstairs._

_But it never happened._

_"Klaire?! Klaire, wake up! What's going on, woman?! Wake up." The boy only felt it necessary at that moment, with the intelligence of childhood, to see if his mother was alright himself. "No… damnit all, Klaire! What sort of karma is this…!?"_

_Kristoph's feet lightly padded over to the kitchen, but paused slightly at a soft crying—a baby's crying. With this, he entered the kitchen. There, his mother lay, her eyes glazed over, her position awkwardly collapsed onto the floor. Her dress was stained slightly with blood and there, laid aside from her bloodstained underwear, was a small baby in the Gavin father's hands. "Daddy…? What's wrong… with mom?"_

_The man did not look at his older son. "Kristoph… go upstairs, now. This isn't something you should see."_

* * *

"He didn't name you until you were three years old, Klavier." Kristoph sighed, his voice rather defeated as the younger blonde's petrified eyes met his brother's. "You never enrolled in school; you were homeschooled. He made sure you had no contact with the outside world. He wanted to punish you… and perhaps our mother. That's why you have all of your talents, Klavier, because you were always home. Your mind was so virgin to everything around you… your imagination was magnificent, if only because you hadn't known what reality was." His face made an undesirable twitch. "You took my mother away, Klavier."

The younger Gavin was defeated. "I… I'm sorry, Kristoph… I never knew—"

Kristoph's persona changed drastically; he shouted out inconceivable rage. "You took our mother away and left me to fend off that hideous man, Klavier! You made me face the world alone! You took away the only angel that watched over me… and made _yourself_ out to be some sort of one. And atop that—and I'll never understand—I had to protect my mother's murderer." Judging by the venom held fiercely in Kristoph's voice, the 'murderer' was Klavier. "You know, he made sure everyday that you knew exactly the price you paid for living. He would always 'price' you for living in that house under his care… like you were some sort of tenant rather than his child. He made you do all of your… prostitution to pay off your 'debt' for living in that house. That's the only way he could make it make sense to you. I know he never meant those things… but he realized your value from the beginning. He thought you could have some worth, despite the fact that you _killed _your own mother."

Klavier could hold himself back no longer. "I can't control destiny, Kristoph; I'm not God! I'm not even sure God could have changed what happened… Sure I never knew our mother, but that doesn't mean I never wanted to, let alone wanted to kill her! It was never my decision, Kristoph! It's not like I came into this world, in her womb, wanting to kill her from the get-go! Shouldn't all of this be blamed on our father? He was the one who stressed her so badly, right? So why is it that _I_ get blamed?!" The blonde now found himself overcome with tears. "I never wanted to kill her… I never wanted her to die…" Kristoph hissed disgustedly at his mother's 'murderer.' With a fleeting, venomous glance, the older blonde returned to the Control Room, leaving Klavier's cerulean eyes to overcome with clear tears.

* * *

_Edgeworth Manor_

_July 28, 2027—7:04AM_

"I… I just don't know, Phoenix. Perhaps it's because of what we've discussed before," Miles murmured gravely, his voice less serious due to tire. He had been up all night with paperwork, only the bitter taste and aroma of coffee to keep him awake. And as such, without a lover to be there in the bed, Phoenix, too, was awakened, due to worry of his husband's condition, as well as another's.

"Well, it just doesn't make sense. First he was reserved, then he was fine, then he was reserved _again_, then he was fine again, and now he's just plain unprofessional! He used the kind of unconventional methods that _I_ was known for—and ridiculed! And atop that, he didn't even have his euro-rock star flair, either! The wall-slam, the slang terms, hell! even his accent seemed… forced. It wasn't even like his usual habitual self to slam his fist against the wall… it's like he had to think about it! When does _Klavier_ ever have to think to slam his fist against the wall?"

"Phoenix…" Miles muttered, his mind lost in its logic-bound thought. He held onto that word for a while, buying his time to think. Finally, he resumed, "Despite the fact that Klavier is a very strong young man… he isn't invincible. Who knows? Perhaps he's crumbling from the inside out… imploding on himself. What if… What if he _is_ depressed? And what if, due to his fear of looking weak—Klavier always wanted to look strong, like a leader—what if he was trying to find the best mask for all of his pain? What if he is trying to put on a different face… and see which one we would like?" Phoenix gasped softly at the thought, seating himself in a chair as his husband continued, "What if he didn't like how people thought of his 'rocker' attitude… and he, being terribly considerate, decided that since he was offending others—and thereby regretting it himself—he would change himself… completely?"

"Maybe. I remember the day his brother was executed. Klavier was _still_ smiling, as usual. It seems like that kid has a lot more demons than he's letting on." Miles shook his head with a small whimper as Phoenix's reality made itself known. "And I feel so bad for you too, Miles; you raised the kid like your own… only to return to see him like this… But I can only wonder _why_ he feels he has to change himself. Who did he exactly offend?"

"Well, I'm not so sure I'm the best person to discuss this with, Phoenix. After all, I haven't seen him in nine years; I don't know what he's like. He doesn't strike me as offensive, however, so who do you believe he's changing for?" The cherry wine prosecutor knit his eyebrows, disappointed in himself for not yielding more advice.

Phoenix, too, knit his eyebrows (combing back that stubborn lock of hair again), his mind lost in thought. _Yes, why? Why would Klavier… slowly kill himself like this? What's happened—or even is happening—to scar him into being this way…? Who would he change himself completely for—_The reality piled onto the cobalt attorney's mind far too quickly. "Apollo…"

"I'm sorry? Speak up, sweetheart; I can't hear you."

"He's changing… because of Apollo…"

"What? Is the attorney too good for him? Is he upset that he keeps losing to him?"

Phoenix chuckled wryly at his husband's confusion. "No, Miles… he's changing for Apollo because he loves him." With the look of confusion sketched across the prosecutor's face, Phoenix continued, "I can see these sorts of signs, Miles. Hell, you gave them to me before I figured them out!" The latter blushed, with a shift in eye contact, in response. "Look, I know he loves him, and he isn't the sort of person that would hide it. But Apollo is. Apollo is… too afraid to admit it, but I know he loves Klavier too… Klavier's probably changing so much because he probably asked Apollo out… and Apollo, in turn, was too afraid to admit he loved him too… maybe because he doesn't realize it himself."

"But he needs to." Miles asserted.

"But he needs to… and I'll go ahead and tell him a little later."

The rival prosecutor rose, resting a hand on his husband's shoulder with a sigh. "No Phoenix, he needs to know _now_. I don't think Klavier's sanity can wait. If it's as bad as you say, he doesn't have much time…"

* * *

_Gavin Household_

_July 28, 2027—8:09AM_

"Who is it, brother?" Were the first words that spilled angrily from the younger Gavin's mouth upon the elder's return.

"And what could you mean by that, kleinen bruder?" Kristoph murmured, rather annoyed.

"Who's your first… victim?" Klavier managed, despite the implications of such a horrid word.

"Oh, Klavier. Such a foolish thing to ask a murderer—"

"—Who also happens to be my brother. You know I have no power in the matter; I might as well know." The younger blonde sneered.

The elder scoffed, amused by his brother's irritation. "I suppose that I _can _tell you one thing: it will not be your beloved Apollo. Not yet, anyway. I felt that the sting of his death should linger last, no?" He crossed behind his brother, gripping one of his wrist and pulling his head back by his hair. His condescension ghosted along Klavier's nose as he spoke. Klavier, however, could only think of the sickening acts he played part in only a short time ago, and his position only brought panic. "And what a thrill that would be, ja? You, you're mind too far gone—having killed Phoenix and possibly various others—disregarding that poor boy's pleas as he begs for your mercy, and perhaps your love, if only out of fear. And you won't have it. You'd just drive a knife through his still-beating heart, wouldn't you?"

"Kristoph, stop…" The words began to torment him. "Please… Please say no more…!"

"Fine then," Kristoph then took the opportunity, whilst he was positioned behind his brother to place a rough kiss on his protesting lips. "Would you rather know more about this horrendous past you managed to escape?" Klavier made to object—either from rejection of wanting to know more, or from shock of the physicality—yet he was cut off. "Good," And without the chance to protest, Kristoph tapped his brother's forehead once again, the rest being very imminent as Klavier cried. "And since I'm regrettably running out of ideas, I suppose I'll start with where your memory regained…"

"Wait—! What's the point if I already know…?!"

"To distract you. I need the time, my meddlesome little brother." And, as if the beginning of a fairytale, Kristoph narrated, "Once upon a time, there was a boy on his way to piano practice across the street from his house. What the boy failed to realize, though, was that there was a mob passing through that day, and they were relentless—oh, were they ever relentless. They didn't even seem to notice the innocent boy passing by, and one had begun to think the boy a protester. So, like many other testosterone-spiked males, the man knocked the boy upside the head with what? a two-by-four? Something along those lines. Nonetheless, the boy was soon found unconscious by a man who had come to Germany for studies, finding the area where he was to study completely engulfed in chaos. But there, just as he was to leave, he saw a young figure, unconscious—to which he had presumed him dead—and took him to the nearest shelter, in hopes of reviving him. And this, my dear brother, is where your story begins:"

* * *

_2018_

Men and women ran amok beside the teen. His head felt as though it were split open as a few of these men and women stood beside him, speaking words to one another in a language he could not understand. It was as if they were trying to speak with him, but alas, he could not respond. Every moment the boy flitted into consciousness, these people attempted to converse with him again, but to no avail.

Finally, after the blonde was about to slip back out of consciousness, words—German words that he could understand—echoed from the halls. "Leave the boy alone; he's too disoriented and afraid for your mindless shouts in words he cannot comprehend." The blonde craned his head up with effort to meet the eyes of the man he could understand, yet his terribly-weakened body would not allow it. Before long, a man stood there, his hair a charcoaled gray—not quite dark enough to be called black. He leaned over the dazed teen, comforting him. "It's alright, little one, they're American; they don't understand that you're afraid… or that you can't speak English." He rested a hand on the adolescent's. "Just squeeze my hand, alright? Squeeze it as hard as you can until you can't anymore."

The teen, although weak, was very fearful. "Am I… going to die…?"

"No, no, dear boy. You're only hurting right now. Don't panic; just keep squeezing my hand. It'll be alright." The teen fixed his gaze on the man who understood him as his grip weakened and his eyesight began to grow fuzzy. "Wait… are you alright, little one? Hello? Hello? No—" He began to shout words to the crowd before him in a language, presumably English, that the teen could not could not understand as his consciousness faded as his hand slipped from the older man's.

* * *

The walls were white and nurses bustled about the area. The blonde's head ached terribly, and there were many devices hooked in his body, seemingly giving him life. As the teen tried to recall exactly _what_ happened to him, nothing came, and that nothingness frightened him. Fearful, he instead tried to recall the simplest thing: his name.

As he tried so desperately, he did not seem to notice a man appearing in the doorway, worry sketched upon his face. As he approached the teen's bedside, the teen was still trying to find a name—only worrying him more that he could not—and did not seem to notice the man. "Hello, little one." Although he most certainly did not look German, the man's German was very fluent, and it deceived the blonde for a moment.

The teen flinched for a moment due to the sudden voice so close. However, the fluency of the German made him peek his head up curiously. "Are you… my father…?"

The older man was taken back. "N-No, child, I'm not; you see, we found you on the street, unconscious, and we felt it only obligatory to get you some medical help."

The adolescent blonde then realized it was the man from before. "Why…? You said already not my father; you didn't have to."

"Well, let's just say that your father isn't… able to take care of you anymore." The man put a hand on the younger's forehead. "You took some serious damage to your head, little one. You… probably can't remember much."

"So… you're not my father…?"

"No, I'm not." The man cleared his throat. "I'm Miles, by the way. Miles Edgeworth."

The teen knit his eyebrows. "Edgeworth… And I am?"

The question disheartened Miles. "You… You are Klavier Gavin."

Klavier seemed to study that name for a while. Sure, he knew that 'Klavier' meant 'piano,' but his mind never would have conjured 'Gavin.' And surely he wouldn't seriously be named after an instrument. "Oh… I have a pretty name."

"You do indeed." Miles smiled a bit, his heart still sunk by Klavier's simple actions. "Would you like me to tell you more about yourself?"

The teen wavered. "I'm… not sure… I guess so."

"Alright. Your name is Klavier Gavin, and you are sixteen years old. Your birthday, in fact, was only a few days ago. Your only known relative is in America right now. His name is Kristoph, and he's your older brother of eight years. We're sending you there now, because it's unsafe to keep you here by yourself." The man, Miles, knit his eyebrows in sympathy. "But it's been difficult to find him. So… I'll take care of you for now, I suppose. Take a few weeks off of prosecuting. Well, perhaps not…"

"So… you're going to adopt me?"

The cherry wine prosecutor's expression recoiled in shock. "N-No! I… I couldn't possibly raise you as my child… I'm only twenty-six, after all. But… until we can find your brother, Kristoph, I suppose you _will_ be some sort of relation to me."

"So, if you're twenty-six… how old am I, again?" The teen averted eye contact with the older man, embarrassed.

"You're freshly sixteen." Miles began to mutter to himself, still unconsciously in German. "So, now that I have this little one in tow with me… what am I supposed to do…?"

A solution came from simple curiosity from the younger male. "Maybe… I can watch you prosecute? Would that be alright? I know you don't want to lose money by not working and taking care of me… so I'll watch you."

"And perhaps learn some English, while you're at it." The two chuckled. "You have a long way to go, Klavier, but I'll try and help you to the best of my abilities."

* * *

_Gavin Household_

_July 28, 2027—3:57AM_

Kristoph had made quite the progress in the apparent two hours that Klavier had been forcefully reminiscing. He was smiling warmly at Klavier when the younger Gavin awoke. "You see, it took about four months for you to find me. And in another sixteen, you'd be battling Phoenix Wright. You'd studied law quite vigorously in your captivity, and learned many things about it, fascinating you. By the time you reached high school, Father had allowed you to enter a public school, where you learned all of the necessary tools to become a prosecutor later on in America at the astonishing age of seventeen. But, you intended to be a defense attorney, like your brother, yet, after watching Miles Edgeworth, and adoring his work, you decided to switch to a prosecutor, and learned all the necessities to become one yourself. He also taught you much more English than the next man would in those short four months. He kept in contact with you until your battle with Phoenix, to which he'd become so internationally famous that he didn't have time for you. It's astounding how much information you can retain, brother; I envy that about you. You'd absorbed so much English in a single year that you were so eloquent in it in your battle."

The younger blonde was unsure of how to respond, his brother's normalcy disturbing him. "Um… thanks?"

Kristoph leaned nearer to his brother. "Oh and, by the way Klavier, you might want to start protesting now; I've chosen my first victim." And before the younger could make his imminent protest, the older Gavin seemingly strutted off to his place in the Control Room, his low chuckles turning into violent cackles as he disappeared from Klavier's view.

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah... lots of short, choppy scenes. ...This is my crap chapter, I'm sorry; I'm just not that into it. Atop all that, this is a merge of two chapters that were absolutely terrible, so I had to make up for it by completely deleting those two chapters—which demolished my motivation to write the chapter—and restarting. After a while, it just kinda got painful to write.

I already have another idea for a story pushing my KlaviPollo motivation out the window...! ;.; I hate it, cuz I want to be loyal to my fans... and then when I realized I didn't update for a month because of this new idea and because of homework, and partly because of pure laziness, I hate myself for it... so now I hope you all can forgive me, and I'll try to be as loyal as I can possibly be...


	11. Chapter Ten: Victimized

**A/N:** Well, this chapter's a biggun. Things go from bad to worse and, well... there's... more asterisks. Just... viewer discretion is advised. Bad things happen to good people—more than just Klavier—in this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Victimized**

* * *

The knowledge of Kristoph's actions only frightened Klavier, and enraged him. His fist made constant contact with the Control Room door, hoping to some higher power that he'd attain the strength to finally break down that accursed door. The only intervals with virtually no contact is when the blonde's fists would ache, or he'd run out of energy, but the thought of harm coming to his dearest friends aided him in ignoring the pain. Were it not for the fact that the door was metal, the flats of his hands would have been streaming blood by now. Stressed grunts and shouts echoed into the Control Room door, followed after a long while by despairing cries. Though usually the feeling of dread would have crippled Klavier by then, he did not relent, screaming for the man behind the door to emerge.

Finally, and without regards to the blonde's cries, Kristoph appeared from the Control Room, sighing. "You really are a persistent gnat, aren't you brother?" The younger Gavin broke away from the elder before he could attempt a stealing kiss at him. "You don't give me a moment of privacy—banging away at the door like some sort of bull—and now when it's finally time to confront me like a man, you hide away in the corner."

"I… I don't want to be raped again." Klavier shuddered, his voice now a whisper. "Not again…"

The man scoffed, offended. "Well you won't! Not by me, anyway."

"I'm sorry?!"

Kristoph chuckled, his eloquence long faded in the maniacal tease it now was. "I'm just not giving you a break today, am I?"

"I really do wonder how many days it has been, anyway." Klavier grumbled, "And why no one's found out it's not me out there…"

The elder Gavin chuckled. "Well, you won't have time to think about that. After all, the only thing occupying your mind will be whatever I wish to, and you already know what kinds of memories I strive to bring to light." The younger made to answer with spite, but Kristoph snapped a hand out, gripping his brother's wrist tightly, directing his words to said wrist. "And now you know exactly what memory I'm going to educe?"

The rock star's eyes grew small. "Kristoph—" His pleading voice broke. His brother grinned cruelly, and Klavier snapped his eyes shut, remembering that his brother—or whatever he could possibly call this monster anymore—basked in his displeasure and torment. "Please, no…" He whimpered as the man before him began to massage his wrist expectantly.

"I can already see this being fun." Kristoph chuckled. "And yet you don't try to run from me?"

Klavier's eyes began to well in tears. "There's nowhere _to_ run…"

"Ah yes, that's right." Kristoph grinned, the prospect far too exciting for him. "Allow me," And despite the fact that Klavier knew his punishment was inevitable, some part of him still forced a flinch from his body before the rush of memories began to flood into and cripple him.

* * *

_Orlando, Florida_

_Ritz-Carlton Orlando Resort_

_April 17, 2022—3:12PM_

The young German was giggling like an idiot across his band's hotel suite, running wildly away from the man behind him, and threw himself onto the bed. Rolling over, he only found his lover there, who pinned him down, pressing his lips to Klavier's stomach, sputtering it, knowing fully—and enjoying it fully—that Klavier was ticklish there. "Daryan—! No! Stop!" He cried, laughing uncontrollably. "Get off!"

His ebony-locked boyfriend lifted his head from off his torso. "And what if I don't?" He dared with a devilish grin.

"I'll eat you!" He snapped his teeth at his lover's nose. He roared cutely to demonstrate his ferrule attitude.

"God, Pianissimo, chill out!"

"No! Jerk, get off or I'll knee you in your nuts!"

"Yeah, not gonna happen." His grin grew wider, more expectant. His hands pinning Klavier's wrists, his legs then repositioned to lock Klavier's knees in place. "No ball-busting for you." He began to tickle his boyfriend further.

"Asshole! No—! Get off of me!" The blonde shouted through agonized giggles. He grabbed the pillow from behind him, smacking Daryan with it. The vocalist discarded the pillow—his rhythm guitarist flopped onto the floor from the sheer impact—and jumped atop him. The two rolled around the floor of their bedroom for a while before, "Ha! Pinned ya!" He grinned his usual playful smile as Daryan lay panting and frustrated underneath him. "All these German guns, baby." He flexed his rather slight muscles to demonstrate. Daryan seized the opportunity, and the two wrestled again, with the winner being "Ha! Pinned ya again."

Daryan panted for a while, letting his body go limp in respect of Klavier's triumph. "Fine, fine. You win… for now."

Klavier raised his eyebrows, feigning a gasp. "You're actually letting me win? And you're _not_ being a sore loser about it?!" He released himself from atop Daryan, laying down beside him and resting his head on his shark-themed lover's chest. "I didn't mean to hurt your ego _that_ bad… Entschuldigung…" He pouted, gazing up to meet Daryan's navies.

"Sie vergeben," Daryan smiled, his accent rather smooth for a New York native. "And it's my fault, anyway—shame on my pride! I attacked you when you didn't expect it."

"No, it's only bad if you attack a man whilst his back is turned. That's cowardly. Not if you attack me whilst I'm gloating. That's just smart—"

"Like those stupid bad guys in the movies or in the games that monologue you during the final battle, and the hero doesn't do a thing about it. It's just like 'Oh, might as well acknowledge his words while the world is about to explode in four minutes.' "

"And it does because of that jerk's monologue." Klavier chuckled into Daryan's chest.

"Jerkass bad guys," Daryan sneered, brushing a hand along his German boyfriend's spine. "See, if they were smart, they'd kill the guy mid-monologue."

"Like in Van Helsing—Okay, how did we get from a tickle war to Van Helsing?"

For whatever, this shift brought out uncontrollable laughter from the older. "How should I know, Baby Grand?"

The blonde sought his lover's hand, and curled his fingers in his. "You think the others are tired of us being so… boyfriend-ish?"

"If you're meaning to say if they have some sort of mild homophobia, then I really don't care about what they have to say." He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. "But I can imagine them thinking we're obnoxious, 'cause we just ran across the suite, and I swear Allen was rolling his eyes."

"Well, do you kinda wanna…" He paused a moment, trying to calculate his words. "I dunno… not be so obnoxious?"

Daryan chuckled wryly. "I'm not sure how I'm gonna go about managing that, but I guess just holding hands and kissing occasionally wouldn't hurt."

"I guess," The two laid together in silence, and finally it became all too boring for the tanned rock star. He pushed himself up from Daryan's powerful hug, pressing his lips onto his lovers gently. After all, he _was_ best known for his kiss quality.

Daryan knit his eyebrows as Klavier rose. "Klavi… you ever think about having sex?"

Klavier froze in his place, quietly offended. "You… You're really hasty about that, aren't you? Well, I don't really want to have sex until… until later. Much later. Like, when we're married."

Daryan grumbled subtly. "Ah… I see…"

However, his lover seemed to catch on. "What? You want sex now? Well, if you love me, you can wait."

* * *

"Kristoph…!" Klavier cried, tears streaming from his eyes. He covered his ears, but to no avail, realizing that the words and visions were a product from the inside, not the out. "Please, don't go on! Make it stop! Please…"

"And those words were the fatal venom that ended up ruining your relationship." Kristoph grinned, slowly circling around his brother, overlapping his pleas. "You would turn around to see what your beloved was really like, am I right?"

"Please…" Was all his little brother could whimper, his head hugged between his knees, shielded by his arms. "Please don't…"

Kristoph chuckled. "Ah, but you seem to forget, brother, I am _me_, so I won't listen to your pleas, no matter how desperate, and no matter what relation you are to me."

"Why…?" Klavier asked uselessly. "Why would you do this… to me?"

The elder Gavin chuckled, shaking his head. "Why? It is because I am an evil man, Klavier, nothing more. That _is_ the logic those swine of a jury used to put me to my death, yes?" His lip and eyebrow twitched distastefully. "Let's fast-forward to a few weeks later, shall we?"

"Kristoph!" Klavier shrieked, his pain and fear pleading to his brother.

As the reminiscence flooded the scene back into his head, Kristoph cooed, "Well, I'd love to stay and watch you burn, but I have more important matters to attend to."

* * *

Fights are often a thing Klavier attempts to avoid. However, as things do not go as planned, combined Daryan's temper flares and Klavier's unusual perfectionism in terms of music, there is bound to be an argument here and there. "What do you mean you 'can't play the chord?!' Anyone can play the damned chord, so what makes it so hard for you to do it?!" The blonde growled uncharacteristically. It's only when in relation to music that he acts like this.

"I dunno, _babe_," He said that word with a sort of venom. "My hand hurts, alright? Or maybe I'm just feeling lazy."

Klavier groaned out his anger. "I _told_ _you_ that today, we were gonna record! So just because you're my boyfriend does _not_ mean that you get the chance to laze out today!"

"Really? Well guess what, _sweetheart_," Again, he used a term of endearment as a vocal weapon, rising to face Klavier. This motion of intimidation, however, did not deter the German vocalist. "I'm not the only one you're running ragged. All of this perfection you try to get makes us work overtime, all the time! Are you _never _satisfied?"

"Well _maybe_ if you didn't use shitty excuses like this _all _the verdammt time, this wouldn't happen! And _maybe_ if you practiced a bit more instead of trying to get to my pants, this wouldn't happen either! Gee, looks like there's a lot of reasons why your side of the music is lacking compared to the others!"

"You did not just fucking say that my music sucks."

"Oh, I think I just did, _liebe_." Klavier challenged curtly, not batting an eye to his taller boyfriend; again, this is only a persona seen when his anger arises from a lack of perfection in his music.

"You said my music fucking sucks. You _just said _my music fucking sucks; I can't believe this. Well y'know what? You're just saying that because you're too afraid to admit that it's _your_ singing that's the reason you try to be such a perfectionist." At this point, Klavier began spitting rebuttals at Daryan, but he wouldn't have it, his anger simmering to a boil, their voices rising over one another to be heard, growing in intensity and venom. "Your voice just sucks too damned much, so you try to take it out on us by trying to perfect our side, so people will love our instruments in contrast to your horrible voice!" At this point, the two were screaming at one another, Daryan leaning in nearer to out-size the usually-modest Klavier.

"I'll show you what's horrible! I'll show you!" The violet-clad prosecutor cried, nearly nose-to-nose with his enraged lover, disregarding his lack of size in comparison to his lover; after all, his powerful, steady voice was enough to hold his ground.

However, Daryan had had enough. "Shut _up_, Klavier!" He growled, striking Klavier with enough force to knock him to the floor. "Just _shut. Up!_" The scene lay still for a moment, Daryan panting, not even registering exactly what he had done, until finally, Klavier began to cry. Despite his usual instinct to immediately apologize and rush to his lover's side, his words were now a shockingly stark change: "Cry all you want, Klavi; you know you deserved that."

* * *

"You denied everything, Klavier." Kristoph smiled as he exited the Control Room. "You did honestly feel that you deserved that slap. Maybe it's because you were just so stupidly in love with that horrid man." Kristoph continued, despite Klavier's growing, weak pleas. "Well, it didn't stop there; abuse became a normalcy for you, to the point where you would get beaten in front of your band-mates, and they would think it normal, or even praise Daryan for his strength. And then, two months later was that fateful day when he finally crossed the line…"

* * *

Daryan looped an arm around Klavier, pulling him nearer, the blonde's hands lightly brushing his lover's chest in their embrace. Unbeknownst or uncaring to Daryan, Klavier flinched, not letting his boyfriend know his tight grip was directly over a sore bruise he'd inflicted earlier. "Look, Baby Grand, I'm sorry… Sorry about the whole sex thing. And I swear I'll stop beating you… I just… let my anger get the best of me, and I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm happy that you love me enough to wait… and to try to stop," He pecked the taller male on the cheek. "And that is wunderbar on itself, ja?"

"Yeah," Daryan smirked, a bit flat for the enthusiasm the German had hoped for. "I guess,"

Klavier knit his eyebrows, stepping in front of his dark-haired lover and gripping his wrists gently. "What?" He murmured, his eyes gazing pleadingly, and cautiously—as he was not one to assert himself anymore—into Daryan's hard navies. "Do you not like my…"

"Your what?" It disheartened Klavier to hear the spite and irritation in his boyfriend's voice as he hissed for a response.

"My… _virginity_… even though I'm a rock star… Does that… Does it upset you?" Klavier reverted to his old habit, slipping his hands from Daryan's wrists and wrapping them around either arm.

Daryan chuckled, a subtle slyness in it that Klavier had not read. "No, no, Klavi. It's _perfectly_ alright," Had it not been for the fact that Daryan usually purrs out certain words, that 'perfectly' could have registered so much more of a warning to the immaculate blonde.

"Alright," Klavier muttered, giving Daryan a withdrawn peck on the lips as the latter gestured his light-haired lover into their hotel room. "I just hope the others won't mind that same bit."

"Bet they will," Klavier's eyebrows knit once more, his ears now able to hear the sharpness in Daryan's spiteful voice—able to hear the warning in his purr—and turned around to find him slamming the door shut, locking it.

From behind Klavier, "Oh yeah. Klavier, we'll be _so_ happy… Too bad you won't be a virgin when we are, though." Grinned the bassist, Allen. There before him were all of his band-mates: bassist Allen, drummer Chris, and keyboarder Brad, as well as rhythm guitarist Daryan behind him.

"Dary—" Fear made the blonde's eyes grow small. Those receding ceruleans met with his lover's unwavering navies, a desperate plea in them. "What are they doing here, Daryan?" Klavier smiled falsely, only to hide the inevitable truth.

However, the latter's face did not change. "You know exactly what we're going to do, baby."

Klavier shook his head slowly, a silent cry of betrayal petrified on his welling ceruleans. "Please, Daryan, tell them not to hurt me!" As the lover lay motionless, and the other band-mates reached their hands out for him, Klavier gripped the edges of Daryan's hoodie, that same betrayal steeping through his vocal chords. "Daryan! Please! Make them stop!" He fought against the band's tightening grip, hugging himself to the dark-haired lover. "Please, Daryan! Say _something_! Please _make them_ _stop_!" He cried. The other band-mates had his arms pinned and was being bound, he cried out one final time, "Please, make them stop! Make them _stop_!"

Finally, as the blonde was seized onto the floor, Daryan grinned. "To be honest, I'm surprised you decided to date _me_ of all people. Really, it's a stupid decision… I was pissed at you when you said you didn't want sex, did you notice? Those two months ago?"

"No—"

"And, well," He chuckled again. "Let's just say I'm breaking up with you, you prude little bitch," And there, Klavier's now-ex-boyfriend took the honor of tossing Klavier on the floor and gripping his platinum hair to raise him dog-like. The blonde squeezed his eyes shut as Daryan made to remove his jacket. "Damnit, you idiot!" Klavier could hear Daryan hiss. "You're supposed to take off his jacket and shirt, and _then_ tie up his arms! Do I need to do everything by myself?!" He groaned, and Klavier could feel himself being forced into a stand, carried up by his bound hands. He dared to open his eyes to find his once-lover there, irritation—yet not a single hint of his former love—in his eyes as he unknotted Klavier.

"Daryan—" The German whimpered.

"Shut up, Klavier. Cute to know that you honestly think I still care," He hissed, pinning him to a wall as he began to force off his suit-jacket.

Klavier began to cry out. "You—! You bastard!" He sobbed, kicking against Daryan's grip in hopes of hitting something tender.

It apparently overwhelmed Daryan on how much fight the heartbroken blonde had in him. He grunted with a hiss. "Damnit, Klavi! Will you just chill the fuck out? The more you fight, the less merciful I'll be, you know." However, by this time, Klavier was far too fearful, and his adrenaline far too spiked, to heed his once-lover's warning. He continued to kick and flail under Daryan's grip, to which the latter rolled his eyes. "Hope you all don't mind, but you really need to know how much I really don't care." And with that said, Klavier cried out as Daryan—a man he, only moments ago, held so dear—wrapped his hands around Klavier's neck, squeezing him with full force, and no sign of holding back.

With shock and fear, Klavier attempted to claw away the hands that were bound tightly to his throat. "Dary—!" He gasped as Daryan stared back into the fading ceruleans with a devilish grin. The lighter-haired male's fight grew weaker as there was a lack of oxygen to fuel his muscles and breaths. He managed one last cry before his body could no longer manage consciousness.

When he awoke, a light breeze chilled his skin. _Wait, my… skin? _As his eyesight shifted into focus, Klavier realized then that he was collapsed on the floor, the only clothes on his body being his tanned skin, bruised lightly from the beatings Daryan had recently put him through. "Mornin', babe." The shorter male turned an eye to find his liebe squatted down by him, almost in a patronizing manor. There was that same devilish, sick grin on his pale face, contrasted only by his dark hair, and demeanor.

"Daryan…?" Klavier groaned, noticing a certain part of him felt… distanced… diluted.

The dark-haired male gripped the blonde tightly, rising him to his feet. However, Klavier couldn't maintain himself somehow, and would have collapsed back onto the floor had Daryan's arm not looped and saved him. He gave the slightly-younger male a rough kiss. "Looks like those drugs worked. Jeez, Allen, didn't think you were serious when you said that shit packs a punch."

Allen grinned. "Yeah, don't worry. He won't fight us now; he can't."

Klavier did, yes, attempt to fight Daryan's grip, but his meek pushes lead to nothing. He could barely press an inch of skin. "Daryan… you asshole…!" He cried, his voice now a debilitated slur.

The white-tipped male laughed outright. "So cute to see you struggle, dame. C'mon, just chill… just relax; it'll be so much easier for you if you do." He cooed, almost patronizing the distanced blonde with his words.

"What… What are you gonna do to me…?"

"I think you know that by now, Baby Grand." He delivered another rough kiss before, in the blonde's peripherals, the sight of the other band-mates surrounded him.

"Why, Daryan…? Why is this happening…?"

There was a pause before Daryan groaned, throwing Klavier onto the floor. "Because, we've gotten collectively tired of the way you treat us, Klavier. We're all quitting."

"But you can't…! Not now… we're… on tour…"

The dark-haired male seemed to ignore the plea completely, running his cold, paled hands along the blonde's tan spine. "C'mon boys… looks like he's ready."

"Daryan… no…! Please…" And although Klavier had been under the sedative's spell, he still managed to scream out his vocalist's lungs as the process began, not a single soul about to hear him.

* * *

"Turns out you'd been in much bigger a pinch than you thought. Even after it was over; you were in the middle of a tour, and you knew they couldn't leave. And once that tour was over, your band was in much higher a demand than ever. Sure, you could re-cast the instrumentals, but you couldn't re-cast Daryan, your backing vocalist. So he stayed, all the way up until that band disbanded entirely, after his arrest. You were even foolish enough to fall for him _again_, after hearing his sob-story that he'd learned from his mistake—that he'd gotten therapy." He tsked, leaving Klavier to the rest of _that_ mistake. Then, Kristoph grinned expectantly, the prospect of the next topic couldn't help a smile. "How many years had it been, Klavier?" The younger blonde shook his head painfully, tears stinging in his eyes. "How many, hm? Seven, dear boy; lucky number seven."

"No—" Klavier cried in a voice far too weak to command anything. "Please Kristoph! Please…"

"Seven years it had been since you've last cut, Klavier; that last time being when that buffoon squeezed your neck shut and left your naked body cold after he and the rest of the band had finished using you." Kristoph began to massage his brother's wrist knowingly, expectantly. "That is quite the degree of misfortune to cause that sort of self-infliction, Klavier."

"Stop—!" Klavier practically begged in a broken cry.

"And all it takes now is one misplaced kiss, and some angry words from a feather-headed man who probably doesn't even know his left from his right. Well now… I can't say I don't question your choice of men anymore, Klavier." Kristoph stated simply as he pushed down the cloth of suit-jacket and dress shirt from Klavier's arm. "Seven years… and here I thought you'd grown out of foolish teenage trends and finally learned to relieve your stress with less… scarring. But no; look at you, brother," The elder blonde's voice grew cold, raising the younger German's wrist so he could meet eye-to-eye with the angry red scars he'd inflicted on himself. "How long has it even been since you've hurt at all, hm? Seven years. Your life had been sweet and dandy until one little thing, like a man not returning your feelings, comes in. Then you cry your little rock star eyes out and expect everyone to feel so sorry for you."

"You don't understand!" Klavier sobbed, unable to quell the tears streaming from his eyes. "I'm not invincible! I-I can't take all of the pain of seeing the man I love get put in jail, and showing he never cared about me! I can't take that, only three months later, that my own brother would betray me like this… and leave me so cold… And finally… when I was searching _so badly_ for someone—just _someone_ who I can just talk to—he leaves me in the dust…" His sobs grew quieter, with more pain dominating each tear. "I can't… I can't recover… from something like that… It's so… so hard to recover."

Kristoph scoffed with a shake of the head. "And you think that cutting yourself helps with that? It's like sugar in terms of keeping you energized: it may seem to help for a short while, but soon makes you feel worse than you had felt previously." He chuckled. "But how would I know, hm? I don't take pleasure in looking at a tool smothered in my own blood, after I had used it to do such a thing." He straightened. "Well, while I'd love to go ahead and keep you watching this," Kristoph grinned. "I believe there is a much bigger event about to take place that you simply _cannot_ go without seeing."

"Kristoph…" Klavier whimpered meekly, his voice hoarse from hurt and withdrawal.

"Eh, I don't really expect much of a question from you, even if I acknowledge the fact that you've said my name. So, in short, I'll ignore you for the time being, Klavier." He gave his brother a quick kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you in a little while."

* * *

_Edgeworth Manor_

_July 28, 2027—2:46PM_

It was not a surprise for the cobalt-clad now-attorney to hear a ring on the doorbell. However, he knew that this would mean disappointment for the visitor; his precious Miles—and perhaps the only reason anyone ever visits the manor—was not present. With a sigh, he trotted his way to the doorway. Opening it, he found a young blonde there. "Klavier? What brings you here?" He greeted with a smile.

"Guten tag, Herr Wright." The prosecutor replied with a sheepish smile. Phoenix couldn't blame the kid; he still probably felt it was his fault that Phoenix was disbarred to begin with.

"Well, c'mon then, kid. Come in." He beckoned, allowing Klavier passage into the manor. "So, what is it? You need something from me? Or Miles?"

Klavier smiled. "It's you. Don't worry; just because Miles is a famous prosecutor doesn't mean _you_ shouldn't get visitors, ja?"

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks! Well, I hope you don't mind that I'll be wandering around while you talk with me; I have to prepare some food for Miles, and get the house cleaned up a bit. He's going out on a big trip, again, and I don't want him to do all the work when he's just so dog-tired all the time."

"I understand; I would occasionally make lunches for Kristoph when he had some really high-end jobs."

"I see. I see." He smiled with a nod, before leaving to busy himself in the kitchen. "Those are really cute gloves, by the way."

"Danke! I'm so glad you noticed. They're new." Klavier smiled. Unbeknownst to the attorney, however, in one of those gloved hands clasped a wicked-looking knife—one and the same as the one used to attack the actual Klavier the night he was possessed. "So… how busy _is_ Miles nowadays?"

"Oh, he's pretty damned busy. He could get called off for weeks at a time to international prosecuting. He's… He's pretty famous." As Phoenix continued to ramble and wash dishes, Klavier gained slowly behind him, silent as the night. "Klavier?" Phoenix asked generically, without looking back. "You alright over there? You got awfully quiet."

Dangerously close, Klavier grinned, "Good to see you again, Wright, my old _friend_."

The attorney froze, dropping the soapy dish in the sink. "K-Kristoph…?"

But before the cobalt-clad once-friend could react, a sharp pain entered his stomach, making him gasp out quickly before collapsing onto the floor. Kristoph leaned down by the bleeding man, adjusting the knife in his back to produce more blood. "Are you surprised?" To Phoenix's eyes and knowledge, the figure before him held that same sweet gaze as Klavier Gavin, yet there was a sour, sinister twist to it, especially in the young German's voice, holding that same strict air as the late Kristoph, and the virtual lack of accent. "Did I… pull him off right?"

Phoenix coughed, his blood spattering onto the hardwood. "You… can't be real…! You're dead…"

"And a ghost… in my pathetic little brother's body, yes." He smiled the warm smile Klavier is known for. "Ah… now that I've bested you, it's only the beginning of this chain reaction, yes?"

Before the horrid man before him could continue any more torment, the front door opened. "Daddy? You there, Dad?" It was the young, cyan-clad magician.

Kristoph pulled a sly grin. "Oh-Oh God… Oh no… no, no, no…! F-Fräulein? Is that you?! Please! Please hurry!"

Phoenix choked, "N-No…! You… bastard… stay away from my daughter…!" But before he could object any more, his voice slipped from him, and he could only grunt out incoherent protests to his daughter, warning uselessly that the man before him was not the charming German they knew and trusted.

Answering the German's pleas, the magician rushed into the kitchen, and immediately shrieked, the sight of her thought-to-be invincible father laying in a crimson pool almost too much for her… "D-Daddy…?!" She gasped out, unable to let free her words of sheer terror.

"Please, Trucy! Go! Go call an ambulance! I'll stay here and watch over him!"

The girl finally found her voice to speak. "But… shouldn't you take out that kn-knife first…?!"

"Nein, nein… just go call an ambulance! I'll explain when you've done that!" Kristoph grunted softly after the girl had departed. In such a heightened adrenaline, his accent had slipped a bit; however, the girl didn't seem to notice.

Once she was out of sight, Phoenix groaned, yet this time, words could be made out. "Why would you do this… Kristoph?"

The older Gavin grinned contentedly, and leaned down near Phoenix's ear. "No matter what you do at this point, you can only blame my foolish little brother. Too bad you'll be dead by then to find out what that means." His voice shifted again as Phoenix could no longer hold his consciousness. "Alright, Klavi, stay calm… stay calm… He's gonna be okay. Herr Wright? …H-Herr Wright? T-Trucy! Please tell me you've called someone!"

The cyan-clad girl entered back into the kitchen, tears streaming down her eyes. "I did…"

"Good… Now you don't need to see this! Go somewhere else."

Not many minutes passed before the blare of ambulances and police cruisers could be heard. Trucy rushed out the door as 'Klavier' rose, fake fear playing realistically across his face. He even shed a tear or two for the sake of theatrics. The girl hurried into the arms of her other father, Miles, tears streaming from her eyes as the slate-haired male did all he could to comfort her, whilst also holding back tears of his own. With him was Detective Gumshoe, entering into the manor quickly, with a team of nurses and detectives alike storming the house, taking Phoenix's bloody, limp body from the scene.

Behind it all, as all looked away, Kristoph grinned.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I can tell you one thing: I, sadly, had wanted to do this since the idea came to me that Kristoph would possess Klavier. Cuz I mean, c'mon... what else would you do?

Jeez... these chapters just _aren't_ coming along for me anymore... this one was just a throw-away all until the gore scene... Jeez... hope this never happens again...


	12. Chapter Eleven: Realization

**A/N: **I wouldn't be surprised if there was no one looking at this story anymore. I'll admit it. I kinda gave up on this story, and got absorbed into a whole different fandom. This one's kinda waning in interest, compared to Homestuck, which I can safely blame for this story's neglect. But since it's so close to completion, I decided to tough it out and work through it. Also, MMW will be discontinued.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Realization**

* * *

_Hickfield Clinic_

_July 28, 2027—3:20PM_

"C'mon, Phoenix, I know you can make it through this…" Miles whispered gently, but sternly, his thumb brushing along his husband's limp hand. Beside him, his daughter wept, unable to quell the pain and horror within her. Her father wrapped his arms around her tightly, exiting the room as the cyan-clad magician's tears soaked through his shirt.

Which again left rival prosecutor and defense attorney awkwardly in the same room (conscious, that is), the only noise filling the silence being Phoenix's heart monitor. Apollo hesitated, his thumbs twiddling, as the blonde beside him vented a breath of stress. "Apollo," He murmured, his voice strained from the event. "Who would have done this to him…?"

"I don't know…" Was all the dazed attorney could manage. "You… You were the first one there; what do _you_ think happened?"

The crimson-clad attorney found himself very observant of his older friend. Somehow, something was subtly off about him—his bracelet never relented a thinly-tight grip on his wrist. "I don't know, really. Perhaps it was someone who was family to Herr Reynolds? Y'know, the murderer? Or one of Fräulein Feights's family, one of them could of been really mad over the situation and taken out their rage on poor Herr Wright."

"You think so?" Apollo murmured, still distanced.

Klavier turned around, his face still cheery, but still something about it was wrong that Apollo couldn't shake. "You didn't think _I_ did it, did you?" Although his face was bright, there was still something about it that unsettled Apollo—the darkness in it that frightened him. Still, Klavier continued to smile, his ceruleans charming and endearing. Because of that, his questions were like a tease, his hands on his hips as he leaned forward a tad. "I just… came in and saw him there. Soon after I came in, Trucy did as well, and that's how all of it started."

"I see…" Apollo started, except his distance now was caused not by the shock of the whole event, but from Klavier, and his obvious change in behavior. Sure, any person off the street could say he was acting normal, but to a trained eye—one who's seen the blonde often—the violet-clad prosecutor was horribly _off_. It was apparent to Apollo that he was perhaps the only person that knew this, close friend or otherwise. "Klavier…"

"Ja?" He turned around cheerily. "What is it, Forehead?"

He gazed into the man's ceruleans. "N-Nothing…" He sighed, "I think I need some air, if you don't mind."

"I don't; it's alright. I understand it's a lot to take in."

"And what about you? You saw him there! You were the first to!"

"I know that. You think I'm not shaken up too?" The blonde said in a voice mirroring irritation and hurt, if only just a tad. "I just had more time to deal with it all. More time to breathe." He murmured, his voice slightly betrayed. "Please don't think I did it, Apollo… you'd be one of just so many others whose trust I've lost because of Kristoph; I'm not like him. You know that, don't you?" He pleaded, his voice defeated.

Apollo had seen Klavier like this before, right before their kiss, and knew he didn't want to repeat that process. He smiled softly. "I believe you, Klavier; I know you'd never do that sort of thing."

Klavier smiled with a tad blush that Apollo dare not attempt to interpret. "I guess I'll leave you to yourself." He murmured. "Just try and relax, ja?"

"Thank you," Was all the attorney could bring himself to breathe.

"God, I'm so sorry all of this happened…" Klavier murmured, his eyes saddened.

"It's not your fault," Apollo answered, his eyebrows knit. "Don't blame yourself."

"But if I'd just come a little earlier… he'd be okay." He embraced his head with his hand.

"No, no. Don't you think like that. It's no one's fault but the person who did it. They decided to hurt Phoenix. You had nothing to do with this." Kristoph grinned smugly at Apollo's words. _The fool. How ironic could his words be? How stupid could a man of law allow himself if he can't see the falsities of my words…?_ Apollo turned back once more to leave again.

However, he did not depart, and stood awkwardly there by the doorway, as if some other invisible farewell needed be said in order to feel such security as to leave.

Klavier's smile, as usual, did not fade. "You're… leaving…?"

"Oh! Yeah, yeah…" Apollo gulped. He couldn't bring himself to stop gazing at the German. God, something about him was just _so off_. His feet, however, finally managed to remove themselves from the proverbial chains and just _move_. He exited with a heavy blush coming about his face. Was he really beginning to return the heartbroken German's feelings…? No, that's impossible. He's straight, after all.

After a moment had passed, and the innocent blonde took a moment to capture his breath and steady it, a fellow prosecutor returned, heaving a heavy sigh, a hand resting on his head. "And how has your day carried you?" Edgeworth asked, no particular interest in mind.

"Hectic," Klavier chuckled lightly, dully. There wasn't any reason to laugh now; it was simply a noise to break the silence between the two, or perhaps a reaction of nervousness due to the silence. "Are you alright?"

Miles's smile was small. "I'll manage," Another heavy sigh. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost Phoenix… and Trucy; what would she do? I'm hardly a father to her! It was Phoenix who took her in and loved her. I can't offer her the same level of affection as Phoenix had managed so seamlessly. And-And I can't give her up. She's far too old and—"

"Relax, Herr Edgeworth. It'll be alright. Herr Wright will make it out of this. I know it."

Edgeworth turned to the younger prosecutor in a tad bit of surprise. "So… I'm no longer your Stiefvater? I could understand…"

Kristoph's eyes widened. Klavier dared to call _Miles Edgeworth_ his stepfather?! And atop that, he never told his dear older brother? "No, no. It's alright; I… I thought _you_ didn't want me calling you that, since, y'know, since it's been so long…"

"Oh, it's alright, Klavier. I haven't forgotten your place in my heart. You have, and will always be, my first child. Even if you weren't born under me." He caressed Klavier's cheek. "It's alright to call me whatever you'd like." Despite his endearment for the blonde before him, Edgeworth, too, could not shake the awkward, strange feeling emanating from his little self-proclaimed first child. "If I may ask… about him." He began, a lump forming thickly in his baritone throat. "You were the first to see him, after all. You know… in his condition."

The blonde seated himself, and heaved a sigh. "I've been such the center of attention, let me tell you. 'Oh, reported his body, so you probably killed him!' " He chuckled wryly. "Just because I discovered his body does not mean that I was the one who killed him; and he's not even dead! There's nothing about that that we can prove, you know." He added upon the pained expression on Edgeworth's pale visage. "He's gonna make it. I know it. He'll be fine."

The ebony-locked prosecutor sniffled, unable to control his upset. "I know… I want to believe the same… but he's my husband, and it's only second nature to worry about him; I-I don't even know if he'll make it off the table."

Klavier pursed his lips. "Don't be like that, Stiefvater. He'll be okay. You just have to believe in him." There was something notable about that response; he didn't want to judge the blonde, but it could only appear as though he was dodging the question entirely.

"So… what did happen when you came in? What did you see?"

The blonde reclined, his eyes averting his stepfather's. "Well, I came in to just check on him. Just… to iron out things between us. He said he didn't want to leave things on a sour note, so I wanted to just chat. And, well, when I came in, the door was open, and I smelled blood. Wandering in, I just… found him… laying there. I… I panicked, and I tried to wake him up, but he just wouldn't. Trucy came in only a few moments later, and I had her call 911 while I took care of him." He peeked a glance at the older male. "Hey," He smiled sympathetically. "It's gonna be okay. Don't… Don't let this get you down. Trucy needs you to be strong for her."

"I know!" He cried, his eyes befalling to tears. "I know that. I know… but I can't contain myself over this!"

The younger male patted the older, a feeling of false upset washing over his remorseless body. "It's alright; you'll make it through this." He breathed a sigh. "But I have to go, actually. I haven't seen Vongole since I left a while ago, maybe six hours. She needs some taking care of, ja?"

"I understand," Miles muttered, having the experience of a puppy at home. "I'll be seeing you then, Klavier." The blonde smiled, then gave his stepfather a peck on the cheek before departing. Although he'd rather not bias, the older prosecutor's feeling of oddity ebbing from his stepson did not cease. His logical mind was at work again, piecing together the a puzzle that gave a sinking feeling fell in his stomach.

* * *

Outside, a crimson-clad defense attorney leaned against a wall, one hand hugging his knees together, attempting to hold back the tears he wished to cry out from his heart; the other, wrapped around his half-sister, comforting her from tears of her own.

After the silence sustained between them, Apollo finally found the throat to break the silence. "Truce… I know it's really early for this, but do you know what happened to Phoenix? Do you remember what you saw?" He whispered gently, rubbing the cyan cloth along her back. "You don't have to say anything if it's too much."

There was a pause of silence, and finally the girl lifted her head with difficulty, a hoarseness in her voice. "No, it's okay." She muttered, barely audible. "I'll tell you, but it's not much."

Apollo nodded, the meekness of his sister bringing tears to his eyes, dawning on him the reality that they might face should Phoenix not survive. "Take your time. Anything you say could be helpful."

She sniffled. "Well, I came in, and Klavier was already there, so I'm guessing Daddy had let him in. But he said a man came in and Phoenix was already lying there, so how did he get in…?"

The chocolate-haired male's eyes widened. Surely she wasn't thinking _Klavier Gavin_ of all people hurt Phoenix? "He didn't do it. I'm sure he didn't."

"Yeah, I know." The distraught on the girl's face did not reflect this, though. Her eyes were not as blind as a lover's; she was willing to examine every side of the story. "But the door was locked when I came in; I had to use the keys. If Daddy was unconscious when Klavier came in, then that means Klavier broke the door down, or he's lying."

"He couldn't have harmed Phoenix. Why would he want to do that?" He asked, a defensive hiss lingering in his throat.

"Well, maybe it's because he's freaked out, and maybe his facts are wrong." She shrugged, hiding the truth of her comfort of the man for Apollo's sake.

At the moment, Klavier exited the room where he and Edgeworth had previously conversed. He bid a small farewell to each of the Gramarye children before exiting, claiming reasons of a rush. His sadistic mind was set on nothing more than those two, however, wrapping itself around the truth: his involvement with Phoenix's assault. However, as he exited, he relished in the thought, rather. The possibility in Klavier's arrest was far too delicious to not give time.

The children reentered the room where Miles awaited. "Apollo," Was the first voice heard as said man entered that room. "I need to speak with you in private, if you don't mind." The cherry wine prosecutor turned to his daughter. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, Apollo and I need to speak alone." Trucy gave her father a pleading, yet understanding gaze, and left. Perhaps she perceived that there would be grave conversation ahead of the boys, perhaps she was too upset to really care. Either way, she made her leave.

"What is it?" Apollo asked with a grim face.

"Apollo, let's cut to the chase. Do you love Klavier or not?"

The chocolate-haired male was taken aback by this. His face heated in a flush. "No! Of course not! How could you even think that?!"

"Because I know the signs. I am a prosecutor and I fell in love with a defense attorney. These things happen." He attempted gingerly, but the gravity of the matter hardened his words into criticisms.

"Well you two knew each other since you guys were kids! I met the guy last year!" He nearly shouted, only tethering his voice down by the white walls marking a hospital scene which needed silence. "I can't develop a crush on a guy!"

"Romantic troubles aside, it doesn't really matter what you think of this. I was only hoping you would have some sort of tie of protection to him, because you're the only person that can save him."

Apollo's eyes widened. "Save him…?

"Yes," Edgeworth's eyes contrastingly saddened. "Save him. Something's happened to him, as I'm sure you've noticed, and whether or not your heart truly loves him could be what saves him or not."

"Wh-What?! Why me?"

"You're the only person that can get to him, Apollo." He sighed. "No one else here is capable of making him feel the way you do. If you were to fake those feelings to try to educe him from what's taken over him, it won't work."

"I'm so confused." Apollo cried, his hands over his ears now. "You want me to love him?! But… But… I don't!"

"I thought you were in love with him, Apollo. That's why Phoenix and I had decided you were best to talk to him. At first we'd believed that he was simply depressed over events that were happening in his life," Such an observation formed a lump in the attorney's throat. "And I thought that if you loved him, you'd be devoted to helping him." He sighed. "I suppose I was wrong. If your heart truly doesn't love him, I suppose we'll find another way to save him."

The younger's heart sank, and with this sadness came confusion. Why was this sinking him so? Such emotion turned to anger. "God, just shut up! Give me a minute! I… I need to think…" Was it really up to him and him alone? Were all of these feelings something to shove off? To just be thrown away? Were they simply meek flits of embarrassment?

"…_If you know you're straight, why do you not know how to react to this man?" The crimson-clad attorney stared at the boy, a fierce defense emblazoned on his chocolate eyes; however, the words of protest would not spill from his lips._

_Indeed… why? He was even content with calling his murderer of a brother by his first name, 'Kristoph.' Why, then, is it so difficult for him to utter his name? It's not so bad… it's just Klavi— …A flutter filled his stomach. Inexplicable, yet absolute._

"_Perhaps you'll find those necessary tools when you get to know me… a tad better." Apollo choked on those last words, and it was not at all by the words themselves. Did Klavier… blush?_

…Or something more…? His breath fell silent for a moment, only to be recaptured in saying words that were barely audible: "I'm lying…"

"Excuse me, Apollo? I couldn't hear you."

"I…" He choked on the word for a moment. After this moment past, he found his Chords to speak, and with them, he spoke loudly, "I'm in love with him."

"What changed your mind?" Edgeworth raised an inquisitive brow.

"That doesn't matter right now," Apollo responded, his voice holding urgent authority. "Right now, Klavier's in danger. What am I going up against?"

The older was taken aback by this, if only for a moment. He regained his composure, realizing that the attorney before him was just as serious about this as he was. "Well, Phoenix and I were talking just yesterday. He felt Klavier wasn't himself. What happened to him, do you know?"

Apollo looked away for a moment. Even after all was said and done, he admitted how his heart truly felt, Klavier could still be out of his reach; he did hurt him, after all. "He… kissed me." He murmured. "And I didn't realize then that I liked him, so I yelled at him. A lot."

Edgeworth pursed his lips. "Oh dear… Well I suppose we have more ground to cover, then."

"Yeah, so if you're wondering why Klavier was so upset, it was probably my fault." Apollo murmured, his face ashamed. "I rejected him, when it was actually me that was too stupid to realize I was in love. God, I feel so stupid."

"There's no need to beat yourself up over this, Apollo; there's nothing we can do to change the past. All we can do is look ahead." He straightened. "Apollo, the person you and I were talking to, I've deduced, was not Klavier at all. I'm not going to judge what might have happened here, as I am a man of science, but I have seen some things, and I'm willing to believe that there are supernatural causes, only because my mind can conjure no other alternative."

"Uh…" Apollo paused. "What do you mean by that…?"

He sighed. "Phoenix and I have been married for four years now, Apollo. His two best friends are spirit channelers. I have experienced some things that science cannot explain, and I'm willing to live with that; it's become a part of everyday life. I feel that the entity—our true enemy—is something of that nature."

"So… a ghost?" Apollo asked, a finger pressed to his forehead in thought. "We're dealing with a ghost here?"

"I believe so, yes," The older attorney grimaced. "Although I wish there was a more logical explanation. But this also leads me to believe that this same entity, now in control of Klavier's body, used him as a weapon against Phoenix."

"You think Klavier honestly hurt Phoenix?! You're insane!" He cried.

Miles shook his head. "No, I don't believe _Klavier_ in particular hurt Phoenix. Under the influence of an outside force, he was forced to commit actions he never would have, not of his own will. There is a substantial difference."

"I… I think I understand. But, who could this son of a bitch be?" The shorter male growled, his hand now balled in a fist as his whole body shook slightly in anger.

"Well, the process of spirit channeling is a very specific one. Unlike movies and the likes, in reality, when one channels a spirit, they take the general appearance of the soul that now occupies the body. However, Klavier I don't believe is empathic enough to channel a spirit, so I don't particularly know how the process works with his body. For all I know, the appearance of the other could be even more prominent on his features." He sighed. "But the thing I found was that he retained _no_ appearance of anyone. He appeared like himself, and I know too little about spirit channeling to understand exactly why that's happening. The only thing I could conclude was that someone who looked similar to him took over his body."

Apollo's eyes widened slightly. "Someone… similar to him?"

"In appearance, yes. And that his intentions were malicious. As I was speaking to him, I noticed he appeared very malevolent and deceptive."

It was almost too much, his head beginning to hurt. Had he really missed the signs? The note, the nail polish… "It's Kristoph…"

"Again, Apollo, you're mumbling; please speak up."

"Kristoph!" He cried, the skin on his body now wracking against his bones. "That bastard… using his own brother… Already he's tried to kill him, but since he couldn't, he's going to use him like his own personal puppet."

"Kristoph Gavin…?" Miles murmured, more for himself than for reassurance. "He… He… I can't believe this…."

"Neither can I, but what else can we think of? Do you know what he wants? What's his game?!"

"I… can't be sure, but I know it's to hurt Klavier in some way. Knowing Kristoph, it's for revenge, and Phoenix isn't his only target. Everyone tied to his cases: Phoenix, Klavier, and even you, Apollo. He wants vengeance for those that killed him, no doubt. None of us are safe." He gasped. "Not even Trucy…"

"So if he's a malicious asshole, and he's gonna try to kill us all, what do you suppose we do?"

"Well, I propose I go after him. I am his stepfather. I'll have to leave Trucy in Gumshoe's care, as well as you."

_No. Something about this just isn't right… I… have to do this. _"Just because you're his stepfather doesn't mean you can help him. I feel like I was the one that allowed this to happen. If I had realized I loved him, he could have had the strength to fight Kristoph. I feel like I need to be the one to do this."

"This isn't about you clearing your conscience, Apollo, it's about getting Kristoph separated from Klavier safely."

He didn't quite know if it was fate, or what factor made him feel this way. His reasoning was ridiculous. It would be so much safer if Miles had taken it on, rather than him, but a nagging feeling caught in his chest that flushed his face and just made him feel like he was the only one who could do it. "I can reason with him! Trust me, I know I can. You have to believe I can, Miles! Please… If Klavier wasn't strong enough to fight Kristoph when he was hurting Phoenix, I think I'd be able to break that barrier. I think… I don't' know why, but I think I'd be able to tap into his strength."

Miles loosed a deep sigh. "And why do you think that, Apollo? You still have yet to convince me that you're best for this possibly-deadly endeavor."

"Look, none of my reasons are going to be adequate enough, but I feel like I have to do this because I love him and he loves me. Sappy, I know. Stupid, I definitely know. But I feel like this is my battle."

The prosecutor gave Apollo his signature hard glare. "Apollo Justice, I may be labeled as one of the most irresponsible, stupidest man in America, and possibly the world, when I say: fine."

"F-Fine…?" The younger male murmured in disbelief.

"Yes." He embraced his forehead with the tips of his fingers with a huff. "Now don't mention it again before I change my mind. I just… I feel like you're right. Strangely. Like the delivery I would have used would not have been sufficient enough for Klavier."

Apollo's eyes lowered, now somber. "So… what's going to happen now?"

"Well, all I know is that I have to leave here and protect my daughter. I'll leave Gumshoe to take care of you, alright?" He hitched his coat. "Now do you have a plan, Apollo, on how you're going to do this?"

He thought for a long moment. This man was possessing his brother's body for vengeance. He was going to try to kill Apollo, using Klavier, and try to blame the violet-clad man for it. He's already done the same with Phoenix. He knew he was the only one that could stop this, by somehow gathering Klavier's strength to break free, by encouragement or some other way. But… making sure Kristoph didn't harm him was the problem… He had an idea, but not how to execute it. "As of now… no." He bit his lip. "But… I'll do whatever I possibly can. For him."


End file.
